


Always in Trouble

by LourdesDeath



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirk Gently Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Project Blackwing (Dirk Gently), Team Up, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath
Summary: After Todd, Farah, and Mona are kidnapped, the universe leads a wounded Dirk to the last two people he wants help from: Ken and Priest.





	1. I've really found someone like you

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this prompt.](https://lourdesdeath.tumblr.com/post/186908576755)
> 
> Eternal love and gratitude to flightinflame for betaing and also for putting up with my absurdity, and extra special thanks to glitteryelmax for their [ABSOLUTELY STUNNING art!](https://glitteryelmax.tumblr.com/post/186912854218/hi-heres-my-piece-for-this-years-big-bang)

They don’t get a lot of days off together, what with Ken being in charge of Blackwing and Osmund spending half his time surveilling potential subjects and the rest of it keeping Bart from listening to the universe and killing Ken. They can only barely justify  _ this  _ little honeymoon (although Ken glares when Osmund refers to it that way) because some government hotshot wanted proof of Blackwing’s efficacy, and Osmund wasn’t about to let Ken get hurt if there was any trouble. 

Osmund’s trying to figure out dinner while Ken takes a shower (he’d glared again when Osmund suggested a bubble bath) when there’s a knock at the door. 

He keys in the code on his phone that will activate the discreet alert on Ken’s phone that they have a potential situation starting and that the other man needs to take cover, and moves to the door. 

Osmund is a few steps away when the knock is repeated. It’s weak and soft, like whoever is outside doesn’t want to be heard. He stands to the side of the door, gun in hand, and pulls it open. 

He’s already aiming at the chest of his unexpected visitor, who staggers backwards. Osmund sees this almost before he registers that the man outside the door is Icarus. 

There’s a wall just outside, making a corner that hides the door from anyone on the street—Osmund chose the location as their safehouse for that reason, and many other safety aspects of it. Icarus is leaning against it, hunched over with an arm around his chest. 

“Well hello there, Icarus,” Osmund purrs, holstering his gun. Icarus has never been able to bring any harm to him, and Osmund made sure to teach him that it was better not to try when he was still a child. “To what do I owe the pleasure?’ 

Icarus swallows audibly and stands up, leaving a smear of blood on the wall. “I… I didn’t know where to go, didn’t…” He pants, blinking slowly. “…Thought it would send me to you… Didn’t… know who else could help.” 

He sways on his feet for a moment before his feet go out beneath him and he crashes to the ground halfway in the house. 

Osmund risks a look around, seeing no one outside, before he drags Icarus through the doorway. 

Leaving Icarus to bleed on the welcome mat, Osmund reaches past Icarus to lock the front door and walks to the bedroom where Ken is sitting on the bed in the emerald green robe that Osmund gave him before they left Blackwing.

“Thought I told you to get into the closet if your alarm went off,” he drawls. 

Ken raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment. “Is this the all clear?” 

“Not quite. I’m afraid our evening plans will be cancelled. You might wanna get dressed before you come look, though.” 

He walks past the bed and into the bathroom to grab all of the clean bath towels. 

Ken is pulling on his trousers when Priest walks back through the room. He doesn’t think about the view—and the fun—he’s missing out on because of Icarus. 

“How much of a mess are you going to make out there?” Ken asks as he pulls on an undershirt. 

“Someone else did before I had a chance.” 

He grabs a first aid kit and returns to the living room, where Icarus is still on the floor. The boy was never good at dying, but at least this time it means he can get some information. 

Ken walks in while Osmund is stitching up a bullet wound on Icarus’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you could do emergency medicine.” 

“I’m full of surprises, baby.” Osmund’s reply is half-hearted, his focus on Icarus.

Ken steps up behind him, his legs warm against Osmund’s back. “He looks like he’s been in a fight.” 

Nodding, Osmund holds up a small bag, containing the bullet he had to remove. “Might be able to get info on who did this.” 

Ken takes the bullet from him. 

“Anything else?” 

Osmund looks down at Icarus. “Maybe some fibers, but not much else otherwise, least until he wakes up.” 

Fingers tangle into Osmund’s hair to scratch his scalp. His own hands pause as he leans into the touch with a pleased sigh. 

“Tell me if you find anything else. I’ll figure out something for us to eat.” He pulls away and Osmund closes his eyes, focusing on the ghost of Ken’s touch on his skin before he opens them and returns to the matter at hand.

At some point he hears Ken coming up behind him again. He’s lost track of time but Icarus is mostly patched up, and when Osmund turns to look at the other man he notices the smell of food in the room. 

“Anything else I should know?” Ken asks. 

Osmund stands up and stretches. “He looks like he fell out of a car, judging by the scrapes. And there are bruises on his wrists from handcuffs. Not much else I can say beyond that.” 

“Come and eat, then.” 

“Yessir.” 

Osmund follows Ken to the small dining table that’s in view of both the kitchen and the living room, wrapping his arms around the shorter man before he can sit, nuzzling into him. 

“Can’t believe I didn’t get to cook for you, baby. Was planning on us having dessert in bed an’ everything.” 

“You’re getting blood on my clothes,” Ken says, but Osmund knows he isn’t angry. 

“I’ll wash ‘em for you.” Osmund dips down to nip at Ken’s earlobe, then his neck. 

Ken tilts his head, which is more than enough invitation for Osmund. He sucks on his pulse point, dragging his tongue over Ken’s jugular. 

Osmund grins when Ken sighs quietly—it’s always a treat to get noises out of him, and Osmund always works extra hard just to get them—and kisses his shoulder. “Whatchya thinkin’?” 

“That the food’s getting cold,” Ken replies, but he’s leaning back into Osmund’s chest. 

Osmund touches two fingers to Ken’s chin, applying just enough pressure to get Ken to turn his head so he can press their lips together. It ain’t like this is their first kiss or anything, and Osmund’s not usually the kind of man to say a kiss takes his breath away, but he can’t deny that being with Ken is  _ good  _ in a way he hadn’t known existed just a short while ago.

He opens his eyes and finds Ken looking at him. Ken leans closer and bites his lower lip, then pulls back. “The food’s getting cold,” he says again. 

Osmund kisses his lips one more time, tightening his hold on the other man for a second, and pulls away again with a grin. 

“So, what’d you make for dinner, baby?” 

Ken looks back at him, an eyebrow cocked. “There was some instant stuff.” 

Osmund glances at the stove, where there are a few pans waiting, and packaging for frozen mixed vegetables, instant mashed potatoes, and pre-seasoned chicken breasts. The chicken breasts look a little burnt, but Osmund knows his baby ain’t the best cook. 

He sidles up beside Ken and kisses his forehead. 

“It’s only getting colder,” Ken says, gently shoving him towards the sink to wash his hands. 

Osmund dishes out the food as Ken grabs cutlery, and before long they’re sitting at the table. 

“What do we do now?” Ken asks, taking a bite of the chicken. 

“You wanna bring in a team?” 

Ken pulls out his phone, tapping on it with one hand while eating with the other. “There is one available but that would mean one less group on base while Bart is there without us.”

“If you're worried about keepin’ him in line, I ain't ever had a problem with that.”

Frowning, Ken scrolls through screens on his phone. Osmund smiles at how he can guess what Ken is thinking, that his mind is weighing various options, considering outcomes. 

“We’ll keep this between us unless it becomes necessary to change our strategy,” Ken says after a long moment. “I’ll send out a memo after dinner to say we’ll be gone longer than anticipated.” 

Osmund leans forward. “You could send it now. I’ll feed you and keep your hands free.” 

“I don’t think ten minutes will make much of a difference.” Ken is glaring at him, but Osmund can see the interest in his eyes, the part of him that genuinely wants to say yes but is dominated by the need to put work before pleasure. 

“Next time, then,” Osmund replies, winking. 

Ken rolls his eyes and returns to eating his dinner. Osmund watches him, his chin resting on the back of his right hand. Ken takes a few bites before he sighs. 

“Mr Priest, I don’t want to order you to take a cold shower but I will if I have to.” 

Osmund laughs, but sees movement in the corner of his eye before he can reply. 

Icarus makes a noise and shifts again, one of his hands coming up to touch his face. His eyes open slowly and he glances around, his eyes eventually finding Osmund and Ken. 

“Well, well, well. Look who’s rejoined the land of the living.” 

Icarus’s face makes it clear he’d rather be dead than in the safehouse with them. 

Osmund stands up, laughing when Icarus winces at his chair scraping across the floor, and walks over to him. 

“Now, I know you haven’t forgotten how I do things, but don’t let it get into your head that this is gonna be a vacation for you.” 

Shaking his head, Icarus tries to back away but his arms go out beneath him when he tries to lever himself off the floor. 

“‘Stead of trying to run, maybe you want to tell us how you got here.” 

Icarus glances past him at Ken. “I…” 

“I would advise you to answer the question, Svlad,” Ken says. 

Icarus flinches at the use of his name. 

“We… I thought it was just a case,” he begins. 


	2. You're just too good to be true

_ ~Two days earlier~ _

“Do we really have to eat this stuff?” Dirk asked, looking at the bag of brown rice in their shopping cart. He knew he’d eaten rice before but it just looked so… boring uncooked and in a plain bag that said  _ Whole Grain Rice  _ in grey letters. 

“It’s good for you,” Todd replied as he looked over the shopping list Farah had given them. 

Dirk didn’t see why she was so upset, just because Todd had spent the last several years eating instant macaroni and cheese and bags of pasta and rice that just had to be added to boiling water and then they were cooked. Dirk  _ liked  _ those. The bags were colorful and the pictures on them looked delicious. The rice looked like a bag of… dullness. 

Farah had only looked more concerned when he’d explained that, prior to meeting her and Todd, he’d mostly eaten fast food, because any time he hadn’t eaten for a few days, the universe would lead him to crumpled $1 bills or receipts with special offers on them, and that usually happened outside fast food restaurants. Fast food was nice too. Sometimes the meals even came with toys. 

Dirk glanced over Todd’s shoulder at the list. Nothing on it was supposed to be frozen (Farah had written  _ FRESH PRODUCE ONLY  _ at the top) or come in a bag with nice pictures, apparently. 

He followed Todd through the store as he wove through the aisles, filling the cart along the way. 

When he got to the produce section, Todd stopped and stared at a stack of what the cheerful sign above them proclaimed to be sweet potatoes, which sounded disgusting to Dirk, even though he couldn’t deny enjoying normal potatoes. 

With a sigh, Dirk pulled Mona from his pocket. She was being a rubber duck after Todd told her that bringing a duckling to a grocery store might get them into trouble. 

“Everything is boring,” Dirk told her, turning her so she could see the contents of their shopping cart. 

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Todd asked, and grabbed some of the sweet potatoes. 

Dirk ran a finger over Mona’s back. “We haven’t had any cases.” He had thought that, once they had a proper agency, once they had a sign and a building and everything, it would be easy. But their “Grand Opening” had yielded no results beyond Mona getting to be a balloon arch for a day. 

“The agency’s only been open for a couple months,” Todd said, as if that wasn’t a full  _ sixty one  _ days. “It might take a while.” 

Mona squeaked at Dirk and nodded. 

“I’m a holistic detective. What am I  _ supposed  _ to do if I’m not able to  _ detect  _ anything?” 

“I’m sure something will come up soon,” Todd replied, and went back to shopping (although at least this time he was getting carrots, which Dirk accepted as being proper food). 

Dirk shrugged. It was probably easy for Todd. He’d never had the universe yell at him. He walked away as Todd looked at his phone (with another glance over Todd’s shoulder Dirk saw that he was trying to find out how to know if avocados were ripe) and strolled around the store. The breakfast foods aisle was almost half cereal, many of which were supposed to taste like other things. Farah had said they were only supposed to get the things on her list but he couldn’t resist getting the box of cereal that was flavored like banana pudding. 

Todd was in the baking aisle when Dirk found him. He made a face when Dirk slipped his cereal into the cart, but didn’t comment. 

“Do you see any vanilla pods?” Todd asked after a moment of standing on tiptoes to check the top shelf. “Farah said to get them but they’re not here.”

Dirk looked through the display of spices, and had as much luck as Todd did. 

“I’m gonna text Farah,” Todd said, pulling out his phone. 

After he hit send, they both stared at the phone, waiting for a response from Farah. She was usually good about responding quickly, but after a couple minutes Todd frowned. 

“Maybe we should give up.” 

Dirk was about to answer when a woman walked up beside them. 

“Excuse me,” she said. The two of them began to move out of the way, until she continued, “Did… Did I hear you say you’re a detective?” 

Dirk’s eyes went wide with interest. He took a breath to answer but Todd spoke before he could. 

“Yeah, we’re… we have a private detective agency.” 

“I was… wondering if you could help me. My father disappeared and I was hoping you could maybe find out what happened to him.” 

Dirk wanted to smile but he remembered the last time they’d had a prospective client. Todd had said he’d scared a man off by smiling too much, so he did his best not to smile too much as he reached into his pocket. “I have a business card, if you’d like to come in and talk to us.”

The woman’s hand shook as she took the card from her. “Is there…” She paused for a moment. “Should I bring anything with me?” 

“If you have any relevant information we’re happy to look at it,” Dirk said. “Certainly if you accidentally bring anything with you it’ll be important but don’t purposefully bring anything by accident because it won’t work that way, unless it’s accidentally on purpose.” 

Todd had his  _ please stop being weird _ face on, so Dirk stopped talking. 

“He’s… just like this,” Todd said, presumably thinking it was a way of defending Dirk. Part of Dirk wanted to mind, but he knew Todd didn’t mean it negatively. “But he’s really good at what he does.” 

She smiled nervously, fiddling with the business card. “Well, thank you both so much. I… I just know you’ll be able to find my dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dirk bounced on his toes as she turned away, waiting for her to be out of earshot before he grinned. “You were right!” 

He hugged Todd, and was surprised when Todd returned the hug, one of his hands rubbing across Dirk’s back. 

“You said there’d be a case soon and now there is,” Dirk said, then gasped and pulled away. “Maybe you’re a holistic assistant. Do you feel anything odd right now?” 

Todd’s lips moved like he was trying his best not to smile, but he humored Dirk, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “I…” He opened his eyes. “...Feel like we have everything on our shopping list and it’s time for us to go home.” 

Dirk rolled his eyes but didn’t complain as Todd walked towards the registers. 

Mona shifted in Dirk’s pocket, the lump of the rubber duck vanishing as she became a small lizard. She crawled out of his pocket and up his shirt, becoming a gold sheriff’s badge on the lapel of his jacket. 

Dirk ran a finger across the letters on her, and she sparkled happily. 


	3. Can't take my eyes off of you

_ ~ One day earlier ~ _

Dirk looked around the agency, making sure that it looked nice for their first client. 

The curtains shifted in a slight breeze from outside, so Dirk walked over and closed the window. 

He and Mona had tried to make cookies before bed, but it had pretty much ended up with charcoal hockey pucks. The agency smelled like burnt food so he’d left the windows open overnight. He didn’t want any leaves blowing in now that he’d gotten the floor clean. 

Todd had kindly gone out first thing to buy some cookies from a bakery nearby, leaving Dirk to get everything in order. The desks were now clear of the piles of paper, food wrappers, and toys from fast food orders. 

Mona was being a green dippy bird on Dirk’s desk. 

“What do you think?” he asked her.

She turned yellow in response, telling him she liked what he’d done without having to change into an animate object. 

Todd walked in, carrying two pink boxes. “Wow, it looks great in here,” he said. 

Farah stepped in behind him. “Morning, Dirk. Todd says there’s a client coming in today?”

“Yes! How’s it look?” Dirk asked, presenting the now-clean room to her with a flourish, earning a smile from Farah. 

“Much better. What time is she coming in?” she asked. 

“She didn’t say,” Todd answered. 

Dirk worried that Farah would be upset that he didn’t get a specific time, or say that he’d lost another client, but she just set down her bag on her desk chair. “I’ll make coffee while we wait.”

“I got us donuts,” Todd said, holding up the larger of his boxes. “I thought they’d be a good breakfast.” 

They were sitting around the table, their plates cleared away but their mugs still full (Dirk, of course, had rejected the offer for coffee and instead had made himself some tea), when the young woman walked in. 

At first, Dirk didn’t recognize her. At the store she had been in a white sundress with a bright floral pattern. Now, she was wearing a black leather jacket and black pants. 

“Hello,” Todd said, standing up. “I’m happy you were able to find us.” He walked over to her, a hand held out. “I don’t think I introduced myself yesterday. I’m Todd.” 

Farah followed Todd and introduced herself as well. 

Dirk didn’t get up. Something was telling him he not to move, not to get any closer to the woman. 

“I’m Kate,” she said, shaking Farah’s hand. “I brought along some information about my father.” 

Kate reached into her pocket. 

“Get down!” Dirk shouted, not even realizing that he was speaking until he heard his own voice. 

Todd turned to look at him while Farah dropped to her knees, her hand already going for her knife, but it was too late. Kate had already pulled something out of her pocket that she tossed to the ground. It looked like a small soda can, but grey smoke spilled from it. The smoke swirled into the air around Todd and Farah, but came nowhere near Kate, like there was some kind of force field blocking it from coming near her. 

Todd and Farah both collapsed to the ground, coughing and wheezing from the gas. 

Mona changed from being the desk ornament and became a massive grey dog with black spots. They’d seen one being walked a few days ago, and the couple walking it and two much smaller dogs had even let Dirk and Todd pet the dogs. Those dogs were sweet, their tails all wagging as their ears were scratched, but Mona almost looked like an entirely different creature. She growled, her lips pulling back to show huge, sharp teeth. 

Kate pulled something from another pocket and aimed it at Mona. White smoke billowed from it and knocked Mona to the floor. 

Dirk leapt to his feet, rushing forward to help his friends, but Kate aimed a gun at him. 

“Don’t come any closer.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Dirk asked her. 

She grinned but didn’t answer. “You’re coming with me,” she said instead.

“No, I’m not leaving them—” 

A gunshot pierced the air and Dirk’s eyes landed on Farah, hoping that she managed to fight back, but Farah was still on the ground. He looked around and realized that it was Kate that fired, that she shot him. 

His arm hurt, and Dirk knew it would only hurt more later, but it wasn’t the time to worry about that. 

Kate waved her gun, gesturing at the door. “You’re going to go outside and get into the grey van parked at the attorney’s office next door.”

“What… what if I don’t?” 

She smiled at him. “I heard one of your friends has a disease.” Her voice was light, cheerful, almost like she was gossiping. “A disease that can be deadly when triggered. Shall I find out which one?” 

Dirk saw Todd flinch out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t look at him. 

“Dirk, go,” Farah growled. Her eyes were red and teary from the gas. Dirk didn’t want to listen, wanted to stay with them where at least he could try to help them, but Kate pointed her gun at Farah and Dirk ran out of the agency, hoping that he didn’t hear any more gunshots because Kate had decided not to fire, rather than because the agency walls muffled any noise. 

There was only one grey van at the law office. Dirk feared that it was the wrong one. Pictures of what looked like flower tattoos surrounded the words “Petal to the Medal Florists,” which were in a slightly pointy script. The front seat was empty, but Dirk hoped that, even if Kate had led him astray, the universe would stop him going to the wrong place for once. 

He was about two steps away when the van’s side door opened to reveal a group of people in black outfits. All of their faces were covered and several of them were aiming guns at him, but Dirk didn’t let himself hesitate. 

He stepped up into the van and was grabbed and thrown to the floor and handcuffs were clicked onto his wrists. Dirk gasped in pain when he was shoved into a chair that had been bolted to the floor of the van, the open sides of the cuffs were attached to the arms of the chair as his ankles were cuffed to the chair legs. 

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, and received no answer. 

One of the guards stepped between the two front seats and started up the engine. The van began to move, only traveling a short distance before it stopped again. The door opened, and Kate stepped in, grinning at Dirk. 

“What did you do to the others?” Dirk asked her. He could see the front of the agency outside the door, but Farah and Todd were nowhere to be seen. 

“I would have expected it to be much more difficult to capture you,” she said. “Didn’t your psychic powers tell you I’d be coming?” 

He bit back the anger at being called psychic. His friends were in danger—Dirk couldn’t give Kate an excuse to hurt them or… worse because she had reopened an old wound. 

“It doesn’t work like that.” 

Kate smirked. “Take him to rendezvous point C. I’ll be there once I’ve dealt with the trash.” 

“Don’t hurt them please—” Dirk tried to say but she had already closed the door, and the van began to drive again. 

Dirk stared at the cuffs, trying to will the universe to make them open, but nothing happened. 

“Stupid universe,” he muttered under his breath. 

Despite trying to keep track of where they were going, Dirk soon had no idea where the van was headed, or where they’d been so far. There weren’t any windows, and he’d never been very good with directions unless the universe was telling him where to go. 

That didn’t stop him from pulling on the cuffs every few minutes. The guards in the van pointed their guns at him every time. 

“I haven’t forgotten that you have guns, you know,” he told them. 

The guards didn’t seem to like him saying that, and continued to aim their weapons at him. 

Staring down the barrels sent a chill of fear down Dirk’s spine. Even if they probably weren’t planning on  _ actually  _ shooting him again, his arm ached, and his leg had begun throbbing in sympathy, the memory of Ken shooting him still fresh.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He’d asked Farah about calming techniques for when her anxiety was especially bad. At the time, he’d really meant to learn for Todd’s sake, in case they were somewhere and Todd had an attack, but he thanked his past-self for it anyway. 

Dirk started by relaxing his muscles one by one, focusing on his jaw first, then his neck, his arms, his fingers, his chest, his thighs, his feet. Farah had suggested counting backwards, so he did so. 

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven 

Six

Five 

Four

Three 

Two

A horn blared outside the van, getting louder and louder and getting cut off by the sound of crunching metal and plastic. Dirk was thrown to the side, his arms and legs still held in place by the cuffs but his body moving with the force of the collision. There were shouts and smaller banging noises. 

Dirk risked a look, tilted to the side still. The guards were in a heap on one side of the van, their weapons tangled beside them. 

He straightened up and pulled at the cuff on his right wrist. This time, it gave way easily, as did the other three. Dirk stood up, then lurched backward as the van started moving again in spite of the large dent in the passenger side. He could hear people yelling and more horns honking, all ignored as they drove off with a squeal of the tires. 

One of the guards began to stir. Dirk glanced at the back doors of the van, and grabbed the silver door handle. 

He pushed it down with his uninjured arm and shouldered the door open. The street was going by at a terrifying speed beneath him. 

Dirk risked a look at the guards. One was reaching for a gun. 

Taking a breath, Dirk felt the van breaking slightly, felt his own body instinctively leaning forward against it instead of being thrown backward. It would only take a little more to get out. 

He grabbed his injured shoulder with his good hand and leapt out. He tried to curl into a ball as he was caught in midair, but the asphalt tore through his clothes when he hit it, and bit into his flesh when he was no longer protected by fabric. 

The van sped away from him, the driver either unaware of his escape or having decided that their own escape was more important. 

Dirk struggled to his feet. There was no one around, which at least meant he’d possibly avoided the people in the van being able to hurt anyone who had witnessed his departure. 

He felt something in his mind tell him to walk down a nearby alleyway, and knew better than to do otherwise. 

\--

The street was dark, even with the lights lining the road. Dirk held his side, feeling dampness through what remained of his shirt. His hand wasn’t big enough to cover the wound, but he did what he could to stop the bleeding. 

If anyone had been following him, they would have caught up by now. That should have been a comfort, except that it was quiet; there’s no van blasting music nearby, no crashes of property being destroyed, his one good option for help clearly nowhere nearby. 

He turned left, and saw a house near the end of the next block. Dirk knew he’d be going there, he just hoped his body wouldn’t give out before he arrived. 


	4. My arms won't free you (and my heart won't try)

Icarus pants slightly after he’s finished telling them what happened, his eyelids drooping. 

“What did she look like?” Ken asks. 

“L-Long black hair. Tall?” 

“And you didn’t get her last name?” 

Icarus shakes his head. “She… she didn’t tell us anything else.” He sways briefly, looking like he’s about to pass out, before his body jerks and he moans. 

Osmund looks at Ken. “We ain’t gettin’ any more outta him.” 

Icarus hears this, his breath immediately picking up. 

“What do you recommend?” Ken asks. 

“P-Please,” Icarus whispers. “I… I can…” He tries to move away from them but is clearly in too much pain to get far. 

“We ain’t gonna kill you, Icarus. You really oughta know that by now,” Osmund says, and Icarus whimpers, which gets a laugh out of Osmund. Icarus has always been too easy to hurt. 

He kneels down where he’d been before, and rummages through the first aid kit. There are a few boxes of pills in it. He finds painkillers and sedatives and pops them out of their blister packs. 

Osmund hands the pills and a small bottle of water from the first aid kit to Icarus. 

“Drink up,” he says. 

Icarus’s eyes get the glassy look they always did when he was given that order. He knows better than to disobey. He downs the pills and opens his mouth, showing Osmund he’s swallowed them. 

“Get back to sleep.” 

Nodding, Icarus lies back down with a wince. 

Osmund watches him fall asleep, checking his pulse. Icarus doesn’t wince at his touch, which proves he’s unconscious even more than his lowered heart rate does. 

“What now?” Ken asks when Osmund stands back up. 

“Well, he’ll be out for a few hours at least. Once he’s up we should move locations. When they find him, I want to be ready.” 

“I’ll try and find out who Kate is.” 

Ken retrieves his laptop while Osmund cleans up. He listens to the tapping of Ken’s fingers on his keyboard as he scrubs the dishes. 

“I’ve got footage of the attack,” Ken says as Osmund puts away the last of the plates. Osmund grabs two wine glasses and the bottle of wine he had intended to go with their dinner, pouring it for them before he takes a seat beside Ken

Ken starts the footage. It begins with Brotzman and Black entering the building. The two of them are talking, and Osmund reads their lips. The conversation seems to be about a new client—presumably the woman Icarus mentioned. Ken speeds up the footage when Brotzman and Black are no longer visible, and returns it to normal speed when a van pulls into the parking lot with the logo Icarus described. Ken scrawls its license plate on a pad of paper next to his laptop. 

They watch a woman step out of the driver’s seat and enter the agency, and Ken speeds the footage up. Icarus leaves the building by himself, clutching his arm, and goes to the van, which drives back to the agency. The woman walks outside and, after a brief conversation, watches the van leave and makes a phone call. Ken returns the footage to the correct speed when a second van arrives. 

It has the same logo as the first, but the plates are different. People in black outfits leave the van. Osmund can see the shadows of weapons beneath their clothes. 

The van hides the door from the street as Brotzman and Black are carried out, both unconscious. Lamia is carried out in a glass box, curled up in her human form. 

Osmund reaches over Ken and pauses the footage. 

“Any way to zoom it in?” 

Ken hits a few buttons and Lamia gets larger, as does the box. 

“She knows what she’s doing, whoever  _ she  _ is. This is the same design we used to contain her. Took Riggins years to find something that actually worked.” 

“Is she a former Blackwing agent?” Ken asks. 

Osmund looks at her. “Any other pictures?” 

“I got the grocery store footage as well. You can see her better in that.” Ken clicks over to another window, to pictures of Brotzman and Icarus talking to the woman. 

“I’d know if she worked for us, but…” He moves closer. 

“But?” 

Osmund shakes his head. “Somethin’ about her’s familiar, but I’m not sure what. Sorry, babe.” 

“It’s fine.” If Osmund didn’t know him better, he’d think the flatness in Ken’s tone was caused by anger, but his fingers are flying over the keyboard, his thoughts clearly on something other than Osmund’s apology. He opens a program and uploads the images, starting a facial recognition search. 

Osmund gives him one of the glasses of wine, and Ken sips from it absentmindedly, continuing to type one-handed. 

He looks up the license plates next. 

“Anything?” Osmund asks as he grabs the wine bottle and refills Ken’s glass. 

“Looks like both plates were stolen in the last week, both from residential areas within five miles of the agency.” 

“What about the vans? They had a florist’s name on ‘em.” 

Ken shakes his head after a few minutes of typing. “There isn’t any company by that name in Washington state.” He clicks over to where the facial recognition software is running.

Osmund glances at it. “Baby, that’s gonna take ages to finish. Let’s go to bed.” 

“There’s something we’re missing,” Ken says. “She could be an undiscovered project, or a threat to—”

“She ain’t gonna do anything to harm you,” Osmund tells him, “not if I have anything to do with it.” 

Ken continues typing, so Osmund stands up and presses himself to the back of Ken’s chair, wrapping his arms around him. 

“You ain’t gonna be able to do anymore to find her today. C’mon.” 

“But Icarus—” 

“You think I’m gonna leave him here unsecured?” He leans in to kiss Ken’s neck and nips gently at his earlobe. 

Ken sighs and leans back into Osmund. “Fine.” 

Letting Ken feel his smile through a kiss to his neck, Osmund runs his right hand down Ken’s arm, lifts his hand from the mouse, and presses a kiss to his palm. 

“I’ll deal with Icarus.” 

Ken nods and stands up. Osmund hooks an arm around his waist and kisses him before he can go. Ken responds by carding his fingers through Osmund’s hair. 

Osmund groans when Ken pulls his hair. 

“I assume you don’t want us havin’ any playtime when Icarus is here,” Osmund says against Ken’s lips. “So it ain’t fair for you to tease me.” 

Ken pulls harder, making Osmund bare his neck to him. It’s strange, submissive, but they both know Ken owns him. 

Osmund could stay there forever, feeling Ken’s grip as he holds him in place, but there’s business to attend to. 

After a moment, Ken releases him and pulls away. 

“Deal with Icarus,” he says. “I’ll be in bed.” 

“Yessir.” 

Osmund retrieves some zip ties he keeps on hand and wraps two around Icarus’s ankles and a third around his wrists. It wouldn’t be enough to hold Osmund, or even Farah Black, but Icarus doesn’t stand a chance against them. He does a cursory check of Icarus’s wounds and, once satisfied that he hasn’t reopened any of his cuts, goes to join Ken in the bedroom. 

He finds Ken perched on the side of the bed with a tablet. 

“Just sending out the memo about our absence,” he says. “I’m telling Containment Team Three to be prepared for an op, just in case.”

Nodding, Osmund changes into a pair of sweats and an old T shirt, feeling Ken’s eyes on him. “Tell Cameron too,” he says as he sits down. “She’ll want to have some playtime.” 

Ken taps away as Osmund steps into the bathroom, and is lying down when he returns, the tablet abandoned on the nightstand. 

Osmund lies down, rolling onto his side to kiss Ken. “Goodnight, baby,” he says, trying not to think of how he’d planned for their evening to go. It would’ve been more fun, but he knows that an opportunity to bring Icarus—and another potential project—in isn’t something Ken can ignore.

Ken touches a hand to Osmund’s chest, just over his tattoo. Osmund covers Ken’s fingers with his own, nipping at Ken’s bottom lip. He wants more, but Ken pushes him gently away, so Osmund moves back to his side of the bed. Once he’s comfortable, he reaches over for Ken’s hand and kisses his the backs of his fingers. 

Rolling his eyes, Ken turns off the light. 

—

Todd is woken up by a banging noise, knowing before he opens his eyes that, wherever he is, it isn’t the agency. He looks around. 

Farah is next to him, also awake. “You okay?” she asks. 

“Uh.” Todd looks down at himself. He thinks there’s some bruising on his legs, but nothing feels broken. He tries to move his arms to check if he’s got pills on hand, but a pair of handcuffs stops him. 

“They took your medication,” Farah says. 

Todd leans back. It’s only a matter of time before he has an attack. 

There’s another bang, and Todd looks toward the noise. 

There’s a glass box across the room a sledgehammer swinging itself against the walls of the box. When nothing happens, the hammer turns into a drill, which rests its tip against the glass and turns on. The drill bit grinds against the glass, but the glass stays undamaged. 

“Is that… Mona?” 

The drill turns into Mona’s human form. 

“Hi,” she says, waving a little. “Sorry, Farah. I can’t get out.” 

“That’s okay,” Farah says as Todd wiggles his arm in a sort-of-wave. “We’ll figure something out.” 

“Where are we, anyway?” Todd asks. “And what’d they do with Dirk?” 

“We’ll have to figure that out as well,” Farah answers. 


	5. No more than mysteries and lies

Dirk wakes up to the smell of food, and pain across his body. He whimpers, opening his eyes.

He vaguely remembers getting to this house and finding Mr. Priest here, but everything after that is a blur. His injured arm is in a sling and his wrists are tied together with zip ties, which makes sitting up difficult, but he manages after a moment. 

“Rise and shine,” he hears, and turns to see Mr. Priest sitting at a table. “‘Bout time you woke up, Icarus.” 

Dirk wants to argue, to say that’s not his name, that it was  _ never  _ his name, but it wouldn’t make a difference. 

Ken walks over to the table from what must be the kitchen, a mug in his hand. “Good morning, Svlad.”

Dirk looks between the two of them. If he had thought there was any hope for Ken being an ally, for being someone he could turn to, it vanishes as Ken sits beside Priest. 

“We’ve been looking into the woman who attacked you,” Ken says. 

“Have you found the others? I… I don’t know where she would have—”

“No,” Ken interrupts him. “But I’m running her identity as we speak.”

Dirk slumps. 

“You got any other information for us?” Priest asks. 

He shakes his head. 

“That’s okay,” Ken says, grabbing a plate off of the table. He walks over to Dirk and places the plate on the coffee table nearby. Digging in one of his pockets, he pulls out a pocket knife and cuts away the zip ties on Dirk’s ankles and wrists. “I’m sure you’re hungry.” 

Dirk glances at the food. “What did you put in it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“We can get something in a sealed container if you’d prefer,” Ken says.

Dirk clenches his fist. “Why are you doing this? Why would you care what I prefer?” 

“We’re on the same side here. We want to know who took your friends just like you do. We just want to help.” 

“You  _ shot  _ me! You weren’t helping me then!” 

Ken purses his lips, then stands up. “If you want something else, tell us. We aren’t going to hurt you, Svlad.” 

He walks back to the table and sits at a laptop, his fingers clicking as he types something out on it. 

Dirk looks at the food again. For all he knows, there’s nothing wrong with it. His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. 

Refusing to look towards the table, Dirk grabs the plate. The universe sent him here, and if it wants him to be poisoned, he doesn’t have a choice in the matter anyway. Besides, he’s hungry. 

The pancakes don’t taste like there’s anything wrong with them, in fact they’re almost as good as Farah’s. 

Ken stands up again when Dirk is halfway through eating. Dirk is balancing the plate on his thighs while he cuts through the pancakes one handed, and trying not to dump all his food on the floor.

“I thought you might like something to drink,” he says, holding out a bottle of water. “It’s sealed, but I can open it for you if you would like.” 

“Please,” Dirk says after a moment, but he watches as Ken opens it, the bottle top cracking as the plastic is snapped apart. 

Ken’s laptop chimes, and he stands back up. “Looks like the facial recognition is finished,” he says, slipping back into his chair. 

“You know who she is?” Dirk asks before he sips from the bottle, tasting nothing unusual in it. 

“Catherine Maria Benson. Born…” He pauses, and Priest leans over, staring at the screen. “Catherine Maria Riggins, daughter of Colonel Scott Riggins.” 

“Well, well, well,” Priest says, giggling. “Ain’t that somethin’.” 

“What do you know about her?” Ken asks Dirk. 

“I… I didn’t even know he had children. I knew… that he was married, I saw his ring. But… He never talked about…” 

“‘Course he didn’t,” Priest says. “You think he’d tell his little labrat?” 

Dirk flinches. 

He knows—he  _ does _ —that Colonel Riggins never saw him as a son, never loved him. But somewhere inside him, there’s still that child who thought of Riggins as his father, and to never even know there were children, children that were really his, that he didn’t subject to torture or lock away or experiment on, that Riggins had an entire life that had nothing to do with Dirk… He feels a little sick from the pain of realizing it. 

“That isn’t your fault, Svlad,” Ken says, interrupting his thoughts. “You were just a child, there’s no reason you should have asked about it. Mr. Priest, do you know anything about her?” 

“I only ever met her mother, Riggins didn’t want his kids to meet me.” 

“And his wife?”

He shakes his head. “She was kept in the dark about most of it. Just knew that it was a holding facility.” 

Ken types for a moment. “Looks like Maria Riggins is still alive. She’s living in Oregon now.” 

“And… the Colonel?” Dirk asks. 

“Looks like she moved there soon after Riggins was dismissed from Blackwing, but he doesn’t have an address listed.” 

Dirk thinks back to what Kate had said. “She told me her father was missing. That’s the case she hired me to solve.” 

“Maybe she  _ was  _ telling the truth,” Priest comments. 

Dirk puts his plate on the coffee table and stands up, his body protesting the movement. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’, Icarus?” 

“You know how I work,” he answers, tensing instinctively for talking back to Priest. “I need to go out to find the answer to this.” 

“We’ll come with you,” Ken says, standing as well. 

“He’s just gonna lead us on a wild goose chase.” Priest doesn’t move. 

“Mr. Priest, I understand we aren’t able to explain exactly how Svlad’s abilities work, but I’ve seen for myself that he and people like him function differently. If he believes he needs to go outside, I’m going to listen.” 

Priest glares daggers at Ken but doesn’t argue. “At least let me clear this place up. If we’re leavin’, I don’t want to leave anything behind that she could use to trace us.” 

“How much time do you need?” Ken asks.

“Under an hour.” 

“Does that work for you, Svlad? Are you able to wait that long?” 

Dirk doesn’t want to wait. He wants to be away from Priest, away from Ken. He wants to find Todd and Mona and Farah. But he doesn’t feel the immediate pull of needing to go  _ now _ , and maybe Priest will be less inclined to make his life hell if he offers an olive branch. 

“Yes.” 

\--

“Where do you think they took Dirk?” Todd says. Mona’s resting in her Panic Pete shape, and turns toward him when he speaks. 

“I don't know,” Farah replies. “Maybe she really did want him to solve a case. I… don’t think they're Blackwing.”

Mona turns from side to side in a ‘no’. 

“If it was Blackwing, they would’ve sent that Priest guy. He seemed to really freak Dirk out and…” He hesitates. “I mean, if he took you down before…”

“He wouldn’t have been able to if I'd had ammo," Farah replies. "And there was a lot going on in Bergsberg.”

“I know,” Todd interrupts before she can start to spiral. “I’m not saying I don’t believe in you, I’m just saying that they would send someone familiar with Dirk and with us, who would know our weaknesses.”

Farah glances at Mona, and the box that has her contained. “Well whoever did this clearly knows  _ some  _ stuff about us.”

“She knew about pararibulitis too.”

Farah nods downward, and Todd follows her gaze. She turns slightly so he can see her hands and holds up three fingers. 

Todd shakes his head. Last he knew, Amanda was in one of the Carolinas. Even if he had somehow told her that they were in trouble, they would still be over a day away.

Farah leans back against the wall. “I guess we’re stuck here, then,” she says. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” Todd asks her. 

“I should have known there was something wrong with Kate. If I’d been thinking I would have made sure she was unarmed, or done a background check on her.” 

“You didn’t even see her before, you didn’t have any reason to suspect her, or even know her full name.” 

Farah looks away. 

“Farah,” Todd says to get her attention again. “You’re awesome. I know that, and I think Mona and Dirk do too.” 

Mona squeaks quietly in what Todd hopes is agreement. 

“But there are times when no one would be able to keep us safe, not even you. So don’t be upset at yourself? Please?” 

Farah doesn’t get to answer. The door opens and a group of people walk in. The two of them are uncuffed and stand at gunpoint until they’re lead out of the room, leaving Mona behind. 

They’re taken down a few hallways and into another room with two chairs that look like something pulled straight out of a dentist’s office, although the metal semicircles that his wrists are trapped by after Todd has been shoved into the chair make it clear that they’re not just here to get their teeth checked.

When he’s no longer surrounded, Todd can see that Farah is similarly restrained.

The people exit the room, leaving the two of them once again. 


	6. I’ve always known there was something to be frightened of

Osmund is allowed to take over while they prepare to leave. He half-enjoys the role Ken gave him, to make Icarus as uncomfortable as possible, to make it clear he isn’t trusted so Ken has an opportunity to gain his trust as a friendly voice of reason. It ain’t half bad, being Ken’s attack dog, but being off his leash—or at least pretending to be—is fun in its own way.

He tells Icarus to clean up the dishes and glares at Ken to hold back a smirk when he gets Icarus a chair. 

Ken joins Osmund in the bedroom while he’s packing up their toiletries. 

“Everything going to plan?” Osmund murmurs, quietly enough that Icarus couldn’t hear him over the noise of the faucet. 

“Perfectly,” Ken replies. 

Osmund leans over to kiss his cheek, wanting so much more but knowing they can’t let Icarus know about their relationship, that Icarus could never trust Ken if he found out. 

Ken shoves his things into his suitcase and goes back out to chat with Icarus. Osmund listens to their muffled voices, rolling his unused clothing and rolling up everything he wore to be put into a laundry bag. He does a final check of the bedroom and bathroom, then does the same for the living room and kitchen. 

Icarus and Ken are at the table, Icarus cradling his wounded arm while they talk. 

“You want something that ain’t covered in blood?” Osmund asks him, keeping his tone gruff. 

Icarus shakes his head and, when Osmund quirks an eyebrow at him, adds, “N-No, thank you Mr. Priest.” 

“That’s better. We’re ready,” he says to Ken. 

Ken nods. “I’ll help you carry everything out. Svlad, please stay inside until we’re ready to leave, I don’t want someone seeing you and making a fuss, or Catherine locating you when we’re not able to defend you.” 

Icarus looks at the table. “Yes, sir.” 

Osmund laughs at him and starts loading up their SUV, happy that it’s a company vehicle and, if Icarus bleeds all over it, that someone else will have to clean up the mess. 

“I’ll sit in the back seat with Svlad,” Ken says as he lifts his bag into the trunk. 

“You sure you wanna?” 

“I don’t want him feeling trapped.” 

Osmund holds back a laugh but he still smiles as he checks the weapons he keeps concealed in the SUV. “You do whatever you want. Long as you don’t disrupt my drivin’.” Osmund winks as he says it, and Ken rolls his eyes, walking back into the safe house. 

Once they’ve gathered all their belongings, Osmund does a final check to ensure they haven’t left anything behind, and locks up while Ken walks Icarus to the SUV. 

“Where to?” Osmund asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. 

“It would be easier if I walked,” Icarus answers. 

Osmund looks at him through the rear-view mirror. “And how do you plan on walkin’? You could hardly get out the door on your own.” 

Icarus swallows. 

“Do you feel drawn to anything?” Ken asks. “Mr. Priest won’t give you any problems if you direct him.” He says that with a warning glance towards Osmund. 

Osmund starts the car and Icarus flinches at the sound. 

“I… I think we should turn left at this street,” Icarus says, slouching. 

Osmund considers telling him to sit properly, but he sees Ken gesturing slightly to say ‘no’, so he follows Icarus’s directions. 

They get onto a freeway, and Icarus leans against his door, massaging his shoulder as he stares out the window. He often did the same thing as a child, on the rare occasions that Riggins let him go outside. 

“Svlad,” Ken says. Icarus turns slightly towards him. “I know Colonel Riggins was in touch with you before Supervisor Friedkin was appointed. Did he say anything important to you then?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Osmund catches Icarus glancing at him. 

“Could you…” he starts, and pauses. “Could you not call me that please? It’s not… I’m not… that person anymore.” 

“What would you like me to call you?” 

Osmund can feel Icarus look at him again. “Dirk,” he says. 

“Okay,” Ken says. “I’m sorry, Dirk.”

“Thank you,” Icarus replies, sounding unsure. “I… he didn’t say much to me. It was mostly that he wanted me to come in, but I refused.” 

“How was his behavior?” The tapping of Ken’s fingers pauses as he asks the question. “Did he seem stressed?” 

“It was clear that something had changed, but he didn’t say what. He didn’t seem to like working with Friedkin, either.” 

Osmund laughs before he can stop himself. “That ain’t surprising.” 

“Could Friedkin be involved with this?” Icarus asks. “What happened to him after—”

“I’m fairly certain this has nothing to do with him,” Ken answers. “He was reprimanded for his actions and has been on leave since then.” 

Osmund doesn’t glance at Ken, but Icarus’s question tells them more than Icarus probably realizes. No one knew what happened to Friedkin after Ken pushed him through the portal after Icarus had escaped with Lamia and Moloch and Icarus isn’t the type to ask about Friedkin’s whereabouts if he knows where the man went. Of course, they still don’t have an answer about Friedkin, but they can at least narrow down where he is to ‘not in Moloch’s alternate dimension’. 

He spends a while focusing on the road, tuning out Icarus and Ken’s discussion. Eventually, Icarus falls asleep, his head pressed against the window. 

Ken gets back to work, and the vehicle is silent for nearly an hour, until Icarus jumps and looks around. 

“Exit here!” he says. 

“I’m in the fast lane. I’ll take the next one.” 

“No!” Icarus breathes heavily. “It’s this one or… We need to take this exit.” 

“Priest,” Ken says, and Osmund swears. 

He finds enough of a gap in the traffic to swerve across the freeway. He nearly hits a grey minivan, and a motorcyclist narrowly avoids being run over, but he makes it to the offramp without actually killing anyone, in spite of what he’d like to do to Icarus for being a moron. 

“We need to turn left next.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me after I’ve already turned?” Osmund growls as he follows Icarus’s directions. 

The route winds around across surface streets, Icarus leads them in a few loops but Osmund doesn’t comment on it again. 

“I think… we might be close,” Icarus says. 

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Ken asks. “A business? Or a house?” 

“No. I’ll just… know it when I see it.” 

A few streets later, he has them turn into a parking lot. 

“This it?” Osmund asks. The parking lot is empty, occupied by what was once a large store that seems to have closed several years ago. He drives over the weeds that are growing from cracks in the asphalt and parks near the door. “Well?” he asks Icarus.

Icarus undoes his seat belt and opens his door so he can slide out of the car onto the sidewalk. 

Ken and Osmund both follow him to the doors, which remain closed as they walk up. 

“This is it,” Icarus says, looking around at the parking lot as if expecting something else to appear behind them, but there’s nothing. 

“How can you be sure?” Ken asks him. 

“I just  _ am _ ,” Icarus replies in the half-petulant way he always did when his abilities were questioned. 

He steps forward and touches the seam between the automatic doors, giving them a quick pull, but nothing happens. 

Osmund rolls his eyes and gets out a lock pick. Ken is faster than he is, but he doesn’t want to risk giving up the game to Icarus. 

After a few moments, he stands up and pulls the doors apart. 

The building is dark inside, a few skylights creating pillars of sunshine that light up rows of shelves. 

“We should take a look around,” Icarus says, shuffling past Osmund. 

“You think I’m lettin’ you wander off on your own?” Osmund asks him.

Icarus sighs. “It’ll take ages for us to search the entire building if we stay together. If we split up, we can cover twice as much ground.” 

Osmund looks at Ken in the hopes that he’ll be the voice of reason, but his hopes are dashed as Ken starts to talk. 

“I think we should listen to Dirk. He’s the one who got us here, and if he believes that splitting up is the best call…” 

He wants to argue, but even if it would be within the role he’s playing for Ken, Osmund doesn’t think it would be worth wasting time over. He stalks back to the SUV and pulls out a gun and a knife. 

Icarus blinks when he’s handed the knife. 

“I assume you know how to use this,” Osmund says. 

Icarus nods, pulling the knife from its sheath slightly and then resheathing it. 

Osmund gives the gun to Ken, trying to communicate a command to keep himself safe without actually speaking. 

“I’ll take the east half of the building, you take the west. We’ll meet up at the back. Shout if you see or hear anything unusual,” Osmund says. 

“Yes, Mr. Priest,” Icarus says. 

Ken only nods before they all walk into the darkness. 

Osmund walks through the store, listening to Icarus and Ken talking as they search, until he gets to the northeast corner and there are too many obstacles for the sound to carry. 

He stays silent as he walks, scanning empty aisles and clothing racks.

Approaching one of the skylights, he glances upwards, wondering if whatever Icarus was searching for is on the roof, or if the building has a basement. 

The floor is painted white by the sunlight, and Osmund steps into the box of light. He hears a shifting sound as he stands there, and grins, pulling out one of his guns. 

“You know, sneakin’ up on me ain’t a good idea,” he says. “It never goes well for anyone who tries.” 

There’s another sound, someone breathing heavily. 

“Just a bunch of amateurs, ain’t you?” 

Weapons click around him, and Osmund laughs, ready for some fun, but hears a shout behind him. 

“Priest!” 

It’s Ken’s voice, followed by two gunshots, and Osmund realizes they aren’t amateurs. Amateurs wouldn’t attack both groups, wouldn’t distract him while they go after the weaker parties. 

He steps out of the light. 

“Let’s make this quick.” 


	7. I can hardly speak my heart is beating so

The man stands over Todd, frowning. When he walked in, Todd had wondered if this man was Priest, the one who had scared Dirk so much in Bergsberg, but his voice isn’t the one Todd remembers. 

“Where is he?” the man asks him for what must be the tenth time—it’s all he’s said since he walked in. 

There’s no question he means Dirk, but that doesn’t change the fact that neither of them have any idea where Dirk has gone. 

“I told you,” Todd says. “He escaped at some point after we were attacked. We haven’t seen him.” 

The man shakes his head and turns on the machine beside Todd. Todd braces himself for the electricity that pours into him, but he can feel an attack threatening. He convulses, screaming through gritted teeth. 

“Why are you asking us?” Farah shouts. 

The man turns to her, switching off the machine to leave Todd shivering with the leftover pain. 

Farah glances at Todd and he nods to let her know he’s alright for now. 

“Couldn’t you find him again?” she says to the man. “You got to him at least once already.” 

“Where would he go, if not to you?” 

“We don’t know—” Farah begins but Todd interrupts her. 

“M-My sister.” 

Farah shakes her head, but Todd continues on. 

“I… assume you know about her friends. The Rowdy 3.” 

The man’s expression darkens, but he nods. 

“But I don’t think he’s gone to her. They’re… They’re far away, far enough that he wouldn’t be able to get to them.”

“Then where would he go?” 

Todd looks at Farah again. He knows, if Dirk didn’t go to the Rowdies, he might try getting to Bergsberg, but telling that to this man… It would put Hobbs and Tina in danger, and he wouldn’t do that. 

“If you were able to take us down, if you were able to stop Farah and Mona, there’s nowhere else he would have to go.” 

“Then where is he? We can’t find him.” 

“We don’t know!” Todd shouts, and before the words have even left his mouth the man has turned the electricity back on. Todd holds back a scream until he sees lightning bolts travelling over his skin, leaving his flesh blackened in the process. He can hear Farah telling him it’s an attack but that doesn’t stop the pain, doesn’t stop the smell of burning skin and hair from making him gag. 

He watches the man turn the machine off—although that doesn’t do anything to help with his attack—and fears what the man is planning next, but the man grabs his phone from his pocket. 

“Yes?” The man’s eyes go wide. “Where? I can be there in—You don’t know how to deal with—Listen to me!” His face gets red with anger as he listens to whoever is on the phone. “Fine. I’ll deal with things on this end, but don’t take any risks. We only have one chance at this.” 

He hangs up, shoving the phone into his pocket, and leaves them. 

Todd whimpers, his muscles twitching from the electrocution, but the attack is slowing now. He still sees lightning dancing over his arms and chest, but the pain from it is minimal now, and the smell is gone. 

“Are you okay?” Farah asks quietly. 

He nods, not trusting his voice. 

“I think they found him,” she says. 

Todd hates the part of himself that’s happy that Dirk has been found, if it means the torture will end, but at least it means they’ll be together again, that he’ll know that Dirk is alive until their captors decide to kill one of them. 

Farah watches him, her fists clenched, until he’s stopped gasping from the pain of his attack and his breathing has more or less evened out. 

“Do you think you can sleep?”

“Yeah,” he answers, his eyelids drooping already. 

“Then get some rest. I think you’ll need your energy for when Dirk gets here.” 

“What about you?” 

Farah smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” 

Todd wants to say something,  _ anything _ , to help her, but before he can think of something, he’s drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

\--

“Why are you doing this?” Dirk asks over the noise of the van travelling across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, trying to pull on his cuffs without being noticed. Ken is sagging to the side, looking ashen from the gunshot wound in his leg. 

Kate— _ Catherine _ —laughs. “Will it make a difference if I tell you?” 

“At least I’d understand then,” he replies. 

He doesn’t expect an answer from her, but after a moment she unbuckles and turns around. “My father used to tell me about his work. I always dreamed that someday I’d get to work with him, keep the world safe from people like  _ you _ , but by the time I was old enough, it was too late. You freaks had already broken out. But I knew he was still following some of you, and I knew if he had the chance—if  _ I _ had the chance—all of you could be contained again.” 

“It isn’t my fault that Blackwing fell,” Dirk tells her, although he can never be sure if the universe decided he’d been there long enough. 

Catherine scoffs and turns back around, clearly not wanting to talk to him any longer. 

Dirk turns his attention to Ken. His leg is bleeding sluggishly, but it doesn’t look like the bullet hit anything that would put him in danger of bleeding out. 

“Are you alright?” Dirk whispers to him. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Ken replies. “I… I’m not getting this far just to fail now.” 

Catherine laughs from the front seat, but doesn’t comment. 

Dirk wants to feel vindicated that Ken has been shot in almost the same place as where he shot Dirk not so long ago, but he can’t. There’s no point in vengeance if they both die. 

He hopes that at least he’ll get to see Todd and Farah and Mona. That they’re okay. It’s his fault that they got kidnapped, but maybe he can make some kind of deal with Catherine, get her to let them go if he goes with her willingly. 

The van keeps driving, and Dirk thinks they might be going in circles, although he can’t tell if that’s the driver being lost or an attempt at keeping him and Ken from knowing where they’re going. Eventually, though, they pull up near a building and the door next to Dirk is opened by someone outside the van. 

He looks around as he’s dragged from his chair. It looks like it might be a school, but before he can see much, Ken is shoved out and Dirk catches him without thinking. The other man doesn’t look like he could walk on his own—Dirk still has fresh memories of how difficult it was to walk with a bullet in his own leg—so he slips Ken’s arm over his shoulder and supports him as they’re led in through the double doors. 

The building is deserted, which calms Dirk’s fear that children would be involved in whatever Kate is planning. 

Ken is breathing heavily as they walk, limping against Dirk. 

Kate turns around, watching the two of them while walking backwards, and grins. 

“You’re Supervisor Adams, aren’t you?” she says to Ken. 

“Yes.” 

“Your little guard dog didn’t do very well, did he? He doesn’t even know where you are right now.” 

Ken doesn’t rise to that, so neither does Dirk, although he knows better than most that Priest can almost always find what—or who—he’s looking for. 

Kate turns and opens a nearby door, holding it open. 

“You can wait in here, Supervisor Adams.”

“But—” Dirk begins, but one of the guards raises their gun, so he leads Ken inside. Kate directs him towards a chair, and Dirk helps Ken sit down. 

“You know where to take him,” Kate says to the guards, and one of them walks into the room to drag Dirk out into the hallway.

He wants to stay with Ken. He knows that Ken is the head of Blackwing, knows that he has allied himself with Priest, but at least he knows  _ that _ . Kate’s plans for him are a mystery, and one that Dirk fears he will never solve. 

The guard’s fingers dig into his arm as he’s pulled away. 

“What is she going to do to him?” he asks the guard as the door closes. 

The guard doesn’t answer, but he hears shouting from the room, and then a gunshot. 


	8. Something moved me deep inside

Osmund runs to the store entrance, unworried that anyone who may be left will try anything. It’s not easy to shoot a gun with a bullet in your shoulder, or half your blood spilled onto the floor. 

There had been a squealing of tires over a minute ago, and as he steps out of the building he finds the parking lot empty again except for his SUV. It’s almost surprising to find the tires intact and the engine functioning. 

Osmund wants to be angry, wants to curse Icarus for leading them here, but that will only delay things. 

He reaches into the back seat and grabs Ken’s laptop, clicking through the open tabs and finding the information on Catherine Riggins. He reads through it and doesn’t find anything that can lead him to where she’s taken Ken and Icarus. 

Setting the laptop down on the passenger seat, Osmund runs his hands through his hair. 

He can feel something unfurling inside himself, a gentle pulling. 

Osmund has felt it before but, like Icarus, it only ever got him into trouble. He’s found it’s best to ignore it, to take whatever paths he chooses. 

It’s only when he has no other choice, when something that  _ matters  _ is on the line, that he listens. And nothing has ever mattered more than Ken. 

Osmund shifts into drive and goes in the direction of the tugging, away from the road they’d taken before. 

He allows instinct to take over, his body keeping the SUV more or less in the correct lane, hitting the brake and gas as needed, turning when it wants to. More than one car honks at him, he sideswipes a pickup, and blows through a red light, getting himself shouted at by a crossing guard. 

Osmund taps the console screen a few times, and calls his second in command, Cameron. 

“Hey,” she answers it. “You finally giving me something to do?” 

“I want you to track the location of my vehicle and follow it. I don’t know where I’m goin’ but once I get there I’ll need backup.” 

“How much backup you want?” 

“Just your team for now, I’ll let you know if it looks like I’m gonna need more.” 

“Roger that. Any orders from Supervisor Adams?” 

Osmund glances at the road, swerving between lanes when he comes up behind a particularly slow minivan. 

“The backup team’s for him,” he says. 

Cameron is silent for a moment. “Understood.” 

Osmund ends the call. He’ll need to turn soon, and the pull is feeling more and more insistent, like it’s telling him to hurry, like it’s saying he’s close. 

He’s led to the front lot of a school. The grounds are empty, but the building still looks maintained, like it’s only closed for summer vacation, rather than abandoned. 

As he approaches, Osmund notices a keypad beside the door. None of the numbers are worn down, so Osmund allows his fingers to tap buttons without thinking about it. 

1022 doesn’t work, nor does 0917, but when he taps in 1915, the keypad chimes and a green light flashes, the door clicking as it unlocks. 

Osmund pulls the door open slightly, looking inside. The hallway is empty, so he slips through the doors and closes them as silently as he can. 

He doesn’t know the layout beyond what he could see outside, so he closes his eyes and lets his instincts take over again. 

For a moment, nothing happens, but then he feels the tugging from before. It seems to want him to go to the left. 

Osmund keeps his footsteps and breathing light, listening for anyone else in the building.

He’s starting to wonder if it led him to the wrong place, if this was all for nothing and he’s too late, when he hears muffled voices beyond a closed door. 

He steps closer and looks in through the window. Three men are inside, all in body armor. One is standing against a desk, holding a handgun. The other two are drawing on the white board. There are two automatic rifles on a desk near the door, and Osmund steps back as the men laugh at whatever they’ve drawn. 

Osmund unsheathes two knives and throws open the door. He throws one knife at the seated man, which buries itself in his chest. The man gurgles and collapses. Osmund moves faster than the other two, placing himself between them and their weapons. One man reaches for his belt and has a knife in his throat before Osmund sees that he was going for a walkie-talkie rather than a weapon. 

The third man rushes forward, trying to go for the first man’s gun, but Osmund grabs him from behind, tossing him to the floor. He pulls the knife from the first man’s chest, plunging it into the last man’s thigh, he drags it across the man’s leg. Blood spurts out of the man, and the man struggles beneath him, so Osmund slashes his throat and stands back up. 

He retrieves his other knife and cleans both on his shirt before he resheathes them and takes the handgun, just in case. 

\--

Todd screams, struggling against his bonds. He looks down and watches as his hands start to burn from the inside out, flames licking through holes in his palms and wrists as the skin on his arms starts to bubble with blisters. 

It doesn’t matter that the flames aren’t real, that the only actual fire was a small candle the man held under his foot just long enough for it to trigger an attack. His mind says that it’s all real, and that’s all that matters. The man probably doesn’t even know that Todd’s first attack was almost exactly like this, or that burning is the most terrifying attack for him because of that. 

They had thought it was over when Dirk was found, that they’d be stuck there until he was brought in, but Todd had only barely fallen asleep when the man returned, and the tortures have only stopped for brief periods while the man steps out to set up new ways to cause an attack. 

He can see Farah past  the fire, watching the door for the man’s return. She looks like she’s in just as much pain even though the man has hardly touched her, just asks her questions and hurts Todd if she doesn’t answer, or if he doesn’t like her answers. 

The questions don’t make any sense to either of them, things like whether Dirk uses a nightlight, if any of them gamble, how often they travel by foot. 

The flames are starting to die out, the blackened holes turning white around the edges like old pieces of charcoal.

Todd shivers, exhausted by the repeated attacks and knowing he won’t be able to sleep for a long while, especially when the door opens and the man carries in a bucket of water. 

He’s had attacks where he was drowning, and would do almost anything to avoid another. 

He nearly says so when there’s noise outside the door, several pairs of footsteps approaching. The door opens and Todd could cry with relief when Dirk is led in by a group of armed guards. There’s blood on his clothes and his arm is in a sling, but he’s  _ alive  _ and  _ here _ . 

“Todd! Farah!” Dirk says, rushing towards them. 

“Svlad,” the man says from where he’s standing behind the door, and Dirk freezes, staring at the man. 

“Colonel Riggins?” 


	9. Taste the way that you bleed

Dirk stares at Riggins, hardly believing he’s here. He’d thought… He’d thought Riggins was really missing—or dead—but he’s here and alive and… 

He glances at Todd and Farah again. Todd’s clearly wounded, and shaking minutely. Farah looks scared, the way she does when her anxiety is at its worst, and when she can’t do anything to stop it. 

“What did you do to them?” Dirk asks. 

“This was for your own good, Svlad.”

“You know that isn’t my name!” Dirk doesn’t mean to shout it, and he immediately regrets it when both Todd and Farah jump at him raising his voice. “That isn’t my name,” he says again, quieter this time. “That isn’t my name and you’ve never done anything for my own good.” 

Riggins takes a breath like he’s going to say something, but stays silent for a moment, sighing. “When will you learn that I only want to protect you? That I just wanted to keep you safe? You get hurt when you’re on your own.” He gestures towards the sling on Dirk’s arm. 

“You did this to me,” Dirk tells him. 

“Without me you would have nothing—”

“You took away everything I had!” Dirk feels tears threatening but he blinks them back. “I had a home, and parents, and I knew I was loved. You took all of that, and I’m only just starting to have a life of my own—a  _ family  _ of my own—again and you try and take it all away.” 

He steps away from the guards, ignoring the clicking of their guns being aimed at him again, and walks up to Todd, who keeps looking over at the bucket of water that Riggins has. Dirk has no doubt that Riggins has been using his pararibulitis against him, torturing him the way he tortured Dirk for so many years. 

Dirk tries to pull the restraints off of Todd but they’re locked, and the universe isn’t unlocking them for him. 

“Let them go,” he tells Riggins. 

“I don’t take orders from you, Svlad.” 

Riggins looks at the guards and nods. Dirk is grabbed from behind and dragged out of the room. 

“Don’t hurt them!” he shouts as the door closes behind them, but it’s too late, Todd’s screams are already echoing into the hallway. 

—

Osmund walks through the building, blood dripping off his clothes. He thinks of the good old days, when he and Bart would go out and have fun from time to time. She always looked so happy, letting her mind calm down from the universe telling her to kill people while she was locked away. She was always a mess afterwards, leaving stains on everything she touched. 

He’s listened to the universe as he searched for Ken, but so far everyone he’s found has been a guard, and he’s starting to wonder if the universe isn’t leading him to Ken, if it even knows where he is, if it’s too late to save him. 

Osmund grits his teeth, focusing on the sound of someone walking nearby. The rest of the building is quiet, and Osmund doesn’t think there are many guards left. 

He turns the corner and finds himself faced with a man holding a gun between shaking hands. 

“I… I’ve got you now. You’re not getting any further.” 

“And what makes you say that?” Osmund asks him. 

He glances at the knife in Osmund’s hand. “B-Because I’ve got a gun pointed at you and you only have a knife.” 

“Well then you go ahead and take your best shot.” 

The man’s muscles tense as he prepares to fire, but before he has a chance, Osmund slams the base of his palm into the man’s chest, sending him reeling backwards, firing a round into the ceiling. Osmund steps forward, kicking the gun from the man’s grip, and bends down to grab his collar and drag him to his feet.

“Tell me where he is,” Osmund says, grinning and holding a stolen gun to the man’s chin. “And I’ll make this a quick death.” 

The man’s lips are pulled back in a fearful grimace. “I… I don’t know who you’re—” 

Osmund fires his gun like a surgeon wields a scalpel, shooting the man’s kneecap without needing to look. 

The scream almost makes up for all the difficulty Osmund’s had to put up with.

“You got one more chance—and one more kneecap. Tell me where Supervisor Adams is before you run outta both.” 

Wheezing, the man looks over Osmund’s shoulder. “He—He’s down that way.” 

“I need a key to get in?” 

The man reaches down with a shaking hand, pulling on the keys attached to one of his belt loops by a retractable cord. “It’s—It’s the square one.” 

“Why don’t you show me?” Osmund says, and drags him down the hallway until the man coughs outside a door. 

“This one.” 

Osmund drops the man, who collapses, and examines the door for a moment. 

“The square key, huh?” 

The man nods. 

Osmund grabs the man’s arm and pulls him across the hallway, holding him against the door as he slips the key into the lock without extending the cord. The lock clicks and Osmund nudges the door to make sure it’ll open. 

“Thanks.” He holds his gun to the man’s chest and pulls the trigger, but the gun doesn’t fire. 

The man falls to the ground, his eyes and mouth wide as he coughs. “You—You said—”

“Sorry, musta run outta bullets,” Osmund says, and walks through the door. 

The room is filled with boxes and stacks of tables and chairs. Ken is hunched over in one, duct tape shining on his wrists and ankles. His white shirt and one of his pant legs are stained with blood.

Osmund kneels beside him, lifting his chin gently. “Ken? Baby, you still with me?” 

Ken’s eyes open slowly. “Os…” 

Osmund can’t resist smiling. “Gonna patch you up, baby. Just gotta get you outta this chair.” 

Ken nods, his head falling forward a little. Osmund takes a brief moment, pressing their foreheads together and listening to Ken’s breathing. 

He cuts away the duct tape and pulls off his jacket, balling it up before he lifts Ken out of the chair and lies him on the floor, his jacket functioning as a pillow. 

“They stab you or shoot you?” he asks. 

“Stab wound in my side. Bullets in my chest and leg.” 

“Gonna have to cut your pant leg off, then,” Osmund says apologetically. “‘Least I can get your shirt off.” 

Ken gasps as Osmund slips his knife under his waistband and slices open the area above the blood stain. 

“You’re doin’ great, baby,” Osmund soothes, and unbuttons his shirt. “But this part ain’t gonna be nice.” His fingers find the bullet hole in Ken’s chest and he presses them into the wound. He hates that Ken was hurt, but he can’t help noting that he’s touching Ken somewhere he’s never been touched before.

Ken cries out in pain as Osmund gets his fingertips around the bullet. It slips out of his grasp, but before long he pulls it out entirely. 

“Almost there.” 

The bullet in Ken’s leg isn’t as deep, and it only takes one try this time. 

Osmund checks Ken over for anything else he needs to attend to, his hands trailing over Ken’s body in search of further hurts, and finds none.

Ken’s eyes are unfocused from the pain and blood loss, and Osmund leans close. 

He kisses him, one hand supporting Ken’s head and the other resting over the bullet wound in his chest. Osmund keeps his eyes open, seeing how Ken begins to glow with red light.

This isn’t the most efficient way of healing Ken, but Osmund is familiar enough with his own abilities that he knows Ken’s wounds aren’t so bad that he needs to feed directly from them. As he consumes the wounds, he tastes a mixture of blood and Ken himself, a hint of gunpowder invading the kiss as well. 

Ken breathes shakily against his lips, trembling as Osmund feeds from him. They’ve never done this before—they’ve never  _ needed to  _ before—but Osmund knew the day would come eventually. 

Soon enough the light dims and Ken opens his eyes again. They’re clearer this time, but still bleary from the bloodloss. 

Osmund kisses him once more and straightens up. 

Ken tries to do the same, but Osmund places a hand on his chest, keeping him in place. 

“Give it a minute.” 

The other man listens, which in itself shows the state he’s in.

Osmund leans down, kissing the scars that now mark Ken’s body. He can smell and taste the blood that still shines on the other man’s skin, but his baby won’t be bleeding any more today. 

“How you feelin’?” Osmund whispers, drawing gentle patterns around the scar on Ken’s thigh.

“Alive,” Ken replies quietly. 

“You should stay here while I finish sortin’ this out,” Osmund tells him.

“No, I’m going with you.” Ken sits up. 

“Baby, I don’t want you gettin’ hurt again. You’re not a fighter even when you ain’t been shot.” 

“I’m seeing this to the end,” Ken replies. “Don’t make me order you, Osmund.” 

Osmund stares at him for a moment, shakes his head, smiling. “You know me too well, baby.” He helps Ken to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist, supporting him as they walk into the hallway. 

The guard that had led Osmund here gurgles as they walk away, Osmund following the pulling sensation, which seems stronger now that he’s found Ken.


	10. I can't separate your sins

Osmund glances around a corner, seeing two guards outside a door, and knows that room is where they’re going. 

“You think you can stand on your own for a minute?” he asks Ken. 

Ken nods, stepping away to brace himself against the wall.

Osmund pulls out the stolen gun and gives it to him. “This time, you shoot if anyone comes near you.” 

“I did  _ try  _ last time, I just missed,” Ken replies. 

Osmund rolls his eyes, making a note to give Ken lessons once they’re home, and grabs his knives. 

He walks around the corner, and the guards turn immediately, their guns aimed at him. 

Osmund tosses one of his knives and one man falls, the blade buried in his chest. The other man tries to shoot Osmund, but his gun misfires. 

“Sorry,” Osmund says, grinning. “Apparently the universe is on my side.” 

The guard has the good sense to drop his gun, raising his fists. Close enough for hand to hand combat, Osmund dodges the man’s first punch and slams his arm into the man’s neck. It’s easy to channel his powers through the movement, taking wounds the man doesn’t have. The result is the same as always: the man collapses to the ground, unconscious. 

He turns around. “Clear,” he says to Ken, and Ken steps around the corner, still using the wall to support himself. Osmund walks back to him and half-carries him to the door. This one isn’t locked—or if it is, the universe has broken it.

The door opens, revealing Icarus tied to a chair and Lamia in the containment chamber they’d seen in the surveillance footage. Icarus jumps at the sound of the door opening, and looks them over. His eyes get wide with realization as he sees that Ken’s wounds are healed. 

“H-Hello, Mr. Priest.” 

Lamia changes from a stress toy into a human. “Hi, Ken!” 

“Hi, Mona,” Ken mumbles as Osmund leads him over to an empty chair across the room from Icarus. 

“I thought she’d killed you,” Icarus whispers to Ken, like a child sharing a secret. 

“He ain’t that easy to kill,” Osmund replies. “Bart’d probably tell you the same.” He walks over to Icarus, ignoring how he cowers in his chair, and cuts away the ropes around his wrists. Icarus keeps his hands in place for a moment, like he expects Osmund to tie him back up, but relaxes when Osmund walks over to where Lamia is trapped. 

“Why are you helping us?” Icarus asks, rubbing his wrists. 

“I ain’t gonna be able to take down Riggins and his kid without help and you’re all I got right now.” He crouches beside the containment chamber, looking for the release switch. 

“Os,” Ken says. “Other side. There’s a panel on the bottom corner closest to me.”

Osmund follows his directions, locating the panel. There’s a keypad inside. 

“Any guesses on the code?” he asks. 

Ken shakes his head. 

“Um.” Icarus stands up and stands beside Osmund, staring at the keypad. “I think…” He runs his fingers over the keys, and closes his eyes, typing in 316425 without looking. 

Osmund glares at him, aggravated by how he blindly does whatever the universe tells him, but then a green light flashes on the keypad. The top of the containment chamber lifts up. 

“Thank you, Dirk!” Lamia says, while Icarus pulls open the lid the rest of the way. She turns into a cat and leaps onto his uninjured shoulder, then turns back into a human, embracing him. 

Osmund rolls his eyes. “It ain’t the time for this,” he tells them. 

They step back, Icarus pulling Lamia away from Osmund like he only just noticed his presence.

“I’m… I’m not letting you hurt her,” he says. “And we’re not going back to Blackwing.”

“You always were shit at listening,” Osmund tells him. “None of us are gettin’ out of here unless we have a plan.” 

Icarus flinches. 

“Os, calm down,” Ken says. “Upsetting him won’t help any of us.” 

Osmund grits his teeth but he knows Ken is right, so he grabs an empty chair and sits down. “We ain’t got a lot of time before they notice I’ve dealt with the guards, if they don’t know already,” he tells them. 

Icarus back down on the chair that he’d been tied up in, holding Lamia when she turns into a yellow rabbit plushie. “I’m not helping you,” he says. 

“And how are you plannin’ to get out of here without us?” Osmund says. 

Icarus tightens his grip on Lamia, one of his hands moving to cover her ears. “I won’t let you bring us back in, even if it means…” He looks down at Lamia, petting her. “We won’t help unless you agree not to take us—or Todd and Farah—in.” 

“Fine,” Ken says. “I’m not concerned with that. If you don’t want to come in, we won’t bring you in.” 

Icarus doesn’t seem to trust Ken’s word, which sends something like pride through Osmund, that the boy has finally learned not to believe everything people say. 

“Well, what do you think Mona?” Icarus asks the rabbit plush. 

Lamia rocks back and forth for a moment, before she nods up at him. 

“What do we need to do?” 

Ken turns to Osmund. “You probably have the best idea of what Riggins and his daughter will do.” 

“Our best bet is to take them by surprise. Hit them when they don’t expect it and make sure they aren’t able to strike back. Lamia,” he says, and the rabbit plush turns to look at him. “You think you could look like me?” 

Icarus jumps when he suddenly has a lapful of Osmund’s twin… who is wearing Lamia’s preferred white dress. 

Ken makes a snorting noise and claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling with laughter. 

Osmund glares at him, then turns back to Lamia. “I think they’ll notice your clothes aren’t quite my usual style.” 

Lamia pouts—and it’s strange for Osmund to see her expressions on his own face—but her clothes change to match his own. 

“Better?” she asks in his voice but her cadence. 

Icarus pats her shoulder. “That’s… That’s perfect, Mona,” he says, clearly uncomfortable but not wanting to upset Lamia. 

“You and Icarus are gonna get yourselves captured. Act like you’re me, and like you’ve captured Icarus.”

“What about you two?” Icarus asks. 

“We’ll give you a few minutes, then Ken and I’ll strike, hopefully they won’t be prepared for that. Lamia, when I come in, you get Miss Black loose and become a weapon for her. She’s the only one of you that’s any use in a fight.” 

Icarus frowns. “I can try and carry Todd out although…” He gestures towards his injured shoulder. 

“I’ll fix you up before you go.” 

Icarus’s eyes go wide. “I… I’ll be fine. You don’t need to…” 

“You ain’t gonna be any use to us if your arm’s fucked up.” 

“Dirk, if you want to help your friends, you don’t really have a choice,” Ken says from where he’s sitting. 

Osmund stands up. He knows Icarus is frightened, and a very small part of him pities Icarus, but the pull is screaming at him to heal Icarus and even if it wasn’t he knows it will mean they have a better chance of coming out of this alive. 

Icarus jumps to his feet as Osmund comes closer, nearly causing Lamia to fall to the floor, and backs away from Osmund, but he soon reaches the wall, and has nowhere to run as Osmund grabs his shoulders. 

It’s not the first time he’s fed from Icarus—not by a long shot—and he can almost see the memories flashing in Icarus’s mind. He knows what Icarus is expecting, knows what he fears, and decides to do something different this time. 

Tilting his head to the side, he feeds directly from the wound on Icarus’s shoulder. Icarus glows a deep scarlet, which flickers as he shakes in Osmund’s grip. 

Feeding from Icarus is nothing like feeding from Ken. His energy tastes like smoke, lacking the tang of blood and gunpowder from Ken’s wounds, and it fills Osmund up like a feast.

He releases Icarus when the wound is fully healed, and Icarus scrambles away to cling to Lamia, who has turned back into her usual human form. 

Osmund rolls his eyes. At the very least Icarus could be a little more appreciative. 


	11. So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me

Dirk holds onto Mona. She pets his hair as he tries to do Farah’s breathing exercises. Mr. Priest feeding on him is infinitely worse than anything the Rowdy 3 have ever done, but he knows that his arm is fixed, that he’ll be able to help Todd and Farah escape. 

“You ready?” Mr. Priest asks.

Dirk nods, and feels Mona’s shape change. He knows she looks like Mr. Priest now, and he gives himself a second to prepare before he looks at her. She’s always been indistinguishable from anything she’s turned into, but the smile that greets him sends a chill running down his spine. 

Mr. Priest’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin. “Remember, you’re bein’ me tryin’ to take Icarus in, okay?” 

“I don’t fuckin’ take orders from you,” Mona replies. 

That makes Mr. Priest laugh, although Dirk finds it significantly less amusing.

“Now, I’m gonna give y’all eight minutes from when you leave here to get yourselves captured.” He glances at his watch. “I ain’t givin’ you a watch, though, Icarus. Don’t want you lookin’ at it and letting her know something’s gonna happen. Just know I’ll be there soon.” 

Dirk thinks that’s meant to be comforting, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark for him to know he’ll be spending any more time with Mr. Priest. 

“You know where you’re goin’?” Priest asks, and Dirk nods. The guards hadn’t blindfolded him when they took him from Todd and Farah, and even if they had, he can feel a hunch for which way to go. 

“Then I’ll see you in a few minutes.” 

Dirk opens the door and peeks out, half expecting Kate to be standing in the hallway. When he sees it’s empty, he walks back towards where the guards brought him from. He can hear Mr. Priest talking to Ken in the room, but ignores it as he checks the hallway they need to turn down. 

Mona catches up to him and grabs his arm. 

“Are you okay with this?” he asks her. 

“I wanna help,” Mona replies, shrugging. 

“You could have said no. You can still say no if you want to.” 

Mona shakes her head. “I’m okay, Dirk.” She smiles, but it’s spoiled by being on Mr. Priest’s face. 

Dirk smiles back as well as he can. “We should… probably get into character.” 

“Don’t worry, Dirk. It’s still me.” 

This time Dirk smiles for real, then he takes a breath, allowing all the fear he’s feeling—for Todd and Farah, that he’s made a deal with two men who want nothing more than to lock him away, that he and Mona are walking into something they may not survive—to show on his face. 

He leads them down a few more hallways until Mona pulls on his arm. “I heard something,” she says. She reaches down to her belt and pulls a knife out of its sheath. 

Dirk knows she won’t hurt him, knows that it isn’t even a real knife, but he still whimpers when she holds it to his neck, stepping around a corner. 

Two armed guards are there, both of whom are aiming their guns at Dirk and Mona. 

Dirk doesn’t have to fake terror as they shout at Mona to drop the weapon. 

“C’mon, boys,” she says. “You don’t wanna fight me.” 

One of the guards grabs a walkie-talkie on his belt. “Sir, we found them,” he says while the other keeps his focus on Mona. 

“Bring them in,” Riggins’ voice crackles through the speaker. 

“Yes, sir.” The guard lifts his gun again. “You’re coming with us. If you try anything, we’ll shoot.” 

Mona pauses like she’s weighing her options before she lets go of Dirk, resheathing her knife. 

“Put your hands up,” the guard tells them, and they both obey. 

They’re directed back to the room where Todd and Farah were being kept, the guards walking behind them and telling them when to turn. 

Dirk’s terror mixes with relief that Mr. Priest’s plan worked as the door opens and he sees Todd and Farah, gagged but still alive. 

“Cuff them,” he hears, and looks over to see Colonel Riggins and Kate standing in one corner of the room. The guards grab them from behind and cuff the two of them. “Where’s Project Lamia?” 

Dirk carefully doesn’t glance at Mona. “She… She escaped. I wouldn’t let Mr. Priest hurt her.” 

“And Adams?” 

“Dead,” Mona answers. “I didn’t get to him in time.” 

“Well, he wouldn’t have lasted long anyway,” Riggins says. “I’m sure it won’t take long to undo the damage done by Adams and Friedkin. It’ll be like I never left.” 

“And we’ll be starting with subjects already captured,” Kate adds, unholstering her gun. “I couldn’t’ve done it without you,” she says, and points the gun at Colonel Riggins. 

“Catherine?” he says, backing away from her. 

Kate laughs. “Did you think I’d let you fuck this up again? You’ve already proved you’re unworthy of Blackwing.” 

“We were going to do this together. You were going to be my second in command. We planned this.”

“ _ You  _ planned this.” She fires, and Riggins cries out when the bullet hits him in the gut. He falls to the floor, a hand pressed to the wound. 

“I… I did nothing but… protect you,” Riggins says, wheezing with pain. 

Kate crosses her arms. “You really think what you did was  _ protecting  _ me? I spent my whole life worrying that you’d change your mind about letting me stay free.” 

“I-I never would have—” Riggins begins, but she cuts him off. 

“I know you planned to take me in too. Didn’t you wonder why I wanted to help so bad?” 

Riggins opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. His eyes get wide and he clutches at his throat, his face getting red. 

Kate just smiles at him. 

“What are you doing?” Dirk asks her. 

“He never told you about me, did he?” She walks closer as she speaks. “He told me all about you.” 

Riggins collapses, and Kate waves a hand. He gasps for breath suddenly, coughing. 

“I’m a freak. Like you two.” 

She clenches her fist, and her hair moves like there’s a breeze in the room. 

“Dad pretended that he wanted to keep me safe, but I knew the truth. He always saw me as one of you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dirk says to her. “I’m sorry that he did that, that he lied to you. But you need to know that you aren’t the only person he lied to. I thought I was special—he  _ told me  _ I was special, but I was only ever—”

“You think I don’t know that!?” Kate shouts. “As a child, I thought the only thing he cared about was  _ you _ .” She spits the word. “You’re all he ever talked to me about. I dreamed of getting answers, but then you all escaped, and he still spent every waking moment on tracking you. By the time I was old enough to be a part of Blackwing, it was too late.” Her hair whips around as she talks, like a whirlwind is caught in the room. 

“C-Catherine. I wasn’t lying,” Riggins says, pushing himself to his knees. 

She sneers, pointing her gun at him. “It’s a little too late for that.” She fires twice, hitting Riggins once in the shoulder and again in the stomach. 

Dirk looks at the door. Mr. Priest should have come in by now. 

“To be honest,” Kate says, turning back to Dirk and Mona, “I don’t really want to have to deal with both of you.” She raises the gun and aims it at Dirk. “And it might be kind of fun to let my father watch you die.” 

“N-No, you don’t need to do this,” Dirk says. “I’m not interested in helping him, I just wanted to rescue my friends.” He pulls on his handcuffs as he speaks, but they don’t budge. “ _ Please _ .” 

Kate just grins at him, and pulls the trigger. 

What happens next is almost too quick for Dirk to notice. Mona shoves into him, sending them both toppling to the ground as the bullet lands in the wall. Dirk turns to thank Mona for saving him, hoping that she doesn’t look like Mr. Priest anymore, but it isn’t an attack dog or a tank or even Mona’s usual human form that greets him, but Mr. Priest’s shark-like grin. 

Dirk wonders why Mona is still acting like Mr. Priest, why she hasn’t realized that the real Mr. Priest isn’t going to be coming to save them, when he sees the handcuffs still dangling from one of Mona’s wrists. 

He can remember Blackwing trying to use handcuffs on Mona. They never worked, because she would just change into something small enough to escape them. He’s never seen her pick a lock, especially when it would be easier to just change her shape. 

“You’re… You’re not Mona, are you?” he asks. 

Mr. Priest laughs. “Sorry, kiddo. I know she didn’t wanna lie to you, but I had a feelin’ I should come along in her place.” 

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” Kate asks. She’s still aiming her gun at them. 

Dirk pulls at his own handcuffs again and this time one side opens. 

“You wanna get your friends out, now’s your chance,” Mr. Priest says, and strides towards Kate. He sways out of the path of each bullet, his grin getting wider and wider. 

Dirk jumps to his feet and rushes to Farah’s side, pulling the duct tape off her lips as quickly and gently as he can. 

“How do I get you out of here?” he asks her. 

“There’s a bobby pin in my hair. Pull it out,” she replies. 

Dirk does so, and follows her instructions on how to pick the locks of her cuffs. His hands shake as Mr. Priest and Kate fight, but somehow he gets the lock open and frees Farah’s right hand. 

She unlocks the other side, and he helps her up so she can pick the locks keeping Todd captive. 

Todd’s eyes are unfocused from the pain and exhaustion, and Dirk talks to him as Farah works, keeping half his attention on the fight.

The lock clicks open and Dirk hauls Todd up, getting himself under one of Todd’s arms while Farah does the same on the opposite side. 

“We have to get Mona,” Dirk says as they step into the hallway, Todd whimpering between them. “It’s this way.” 

Farah nods, and Dirk feels Todd hold tight to his shirt. 

They were going to be okay.


	12. Fuel the pyre of your enemies

Osmund watches Riggins’ kid as she lectures them about how terrible her father is, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Partly because he knows Lamia wouldn’t, but mostly because everything she’s saying is old news to him. When she points her gun at Icarus, he doesn’t plan to do anything. The boy will escape if he’s meant to, or get shot if he isn’t, but then he feels the pull once again. 

Before, it had been like a gentle beckoning, a nudge against his heart. This time, it’s like someone’s attached a chain to his chest and yanked on it. Osmund falls to the side, knocking Icarus out of the way as the gun fires. He can practically hear the bullet whistle past his head. 

As he lands half on top of Icarus, he realizes that the cuff on his right hand has opened. 

Icarus stares at him, and Osmund grins when he sees the realization dawn on Icarus’s features. 

“You’re… You’re not Mona, are you?” Icarus asks, and Osmund can’t not laugh at that. He begins to explain it to him, knowing Icarus deserves that at least, but Riggins’ kid interrupts.

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” She’s aiming her gun at them, which only makes Osmund wonder how much Riggins really told her about them. 

“You wanna get your friends out, now’s your chance,” he tells Icarus, not wanting to have to deal with the universe dragging him around the room to protect the hostages. 

He grins as bullet after bullet is fired. The closest they get to him is one brushing across his shoulder, skipping over the fabric like a stone thrown over a pond. He doesn’t dodge—he doesn’t  _ need  _ to—even the minor movements of him walking are enough when neither he nor Riggins’ kid is in control. Osmund can understand a little of why Icarus lets himself be dragged along by the universe so often, it’s fun to watch the confusion set in as Riggins’ kid realizes that she can’t hit him. 

Osmund grabs the gun, the barrel pointed directly at his hand, and laughs when it misfires. 

“When are you gonna learn?” he asks her. “I don’t work like that.” 

She punches him, catching Osmund in the cheek. He doesn’t dodge: he can see how she’s too confused to fight properly. 

He can see Icarus releasing Farah Black out of the corner of his eye. Catherine sees it at the same time. She turns, trying to stop them from releasing Brotzman, but Osmund grabs her from behind, holding her in place as Icarus and his friends leave. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Any other day, I’d let you, but you couldn’t right now even if I  _ did  _ let you.”

She growls. “You’re all the same. Too close to the subjects to—”

“We ain’t all your daddy,” he interrupts. “My friend Ken and I are lookin’ to rebuild what he broke. If you’d gone about this differently you coulda been a part of it.” 

He tightens his grip while she struggles. 

“Don’t worry. It ain’t gonna be long now,” he says, and the building shakes before he’s even finished speaking. “That’ll be Lamia breaking down some of the walls. You really shoulda learned from last time,” he says to Riggins, turning so he can see where the man is bleeding behind them. “Putting any keypads where Icarus can get to ‘em? You’re even softer than I realized.” 

Riggins coughs in response, and Catherine gets her arm loose, thrusting her elbow into his stomach. Osmund’s arms go limp without him telling them to and Catherine escapes his grasp, running from the room. Osmund shakes his head, knowing she’s too late to stop Icarus and Lamia. 

He sighs, hoping Ken has gotten out safe, and pauses when he hears Riggins shifting. 

“O-Osmund.” 

He turns, looking at the older man. 

“You need to heal me.” 

Osmund snorts. “And what makes you say that?” 

“I’m—I’m ordering you to heal me. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me. You owe me.” 

“ _ Owe you _ ?” He shakes his head. “I had plans, you know. And none of ‘em included playin’ guinea pig for you.” 

“I…  _ saved  _ you,” Riggins growls, blood dripping from his lips. His breathing is heavy, but Osmund can hear still hear the uneven footsteps coming down the hallway. “I’m ordering you to heal me, Project—”

“I don’t believe you’re in charge anymore, Colonel Riggins,” Ken says, walking into the room. He’s leaning on the wall and breathing almost as heavily as Riggins. Osmund wants to step closer, wants to hold him and protect him, but Ken stands tall as he looks down at Riggins. “If you’d like to give orders to my subordinates, you’ll have to go through me first.” 

Riggins bears bloody teeth at Ken. “Blackwing is  _ my  _ program. I made it what it is.” 

“You may have molded it, but that doesn’t make it yours,” Ken replies. 

“What are your orders, Superviser Adams?” Osmund asks. 

Ken looks at him, and Osmund knows that look. Ken always has it when he’s wondering if he’s pushing too far, if he’s read Osmund right. Osmund looks right back, awaiting his orders. His baby’s never been wrong before. 

“Heal Colonel Riggins please, Mr. Priest,” Ken says, sending a shiver down Osmund’s spine. There’s nothing he likes more than Ken ordering him to do things. 

“Yessir.”

Osmund digs the bullets out of Riggins’ body one-handed, using his free hand and one of his legs to keep Riggins from struggling too much. He consumes the wounds enough to prevent Riggins from actually dying, but not enough that he’ll be able to get far without their help. 

“I agree with you, Colonel,” Ken says behind him. Osmund turns to find Ken has sat down in the chair Brotzman had been in. “I believe Blackwing is right where you belong.” 

\--

Farah supports Todd while Dirk pushes open the door of the room where he last saw Ken and Mona, and gasps when something collides with him. He looks down and sees Mona there, nuzzling into his shirt. 

“I’m sorry Dirk!” she says. “I didn’t wanna stay but Mr. Priest said I had to stay with Ken and I was so worried!” 

“It’s okay.” He pats her hair gently. “I’m fine. We’re fine.” 

“What happened?” Ken asks from where he’s sitting. 

“We got away.” 

“And Priest?” 

“He told me to go.” 

Ken nods, his expression unreadable. 

Mona looks past Dirk and gasps. “Farah! Todd!” She rushes over to hug them, getting two shaky hugs back. 

“What do we do now?” Farah asks. “I… I don’t think I’m up to a fight.”

“None of us are,” Todd says, his voice trembling. “We need to get out of here.” 

Dirk glances down the hallway, and he knows there isn’t much time. “Mona, can you get us out?” 

“Yes!” Mona grins and becomes a canon, and they all cover their ears just before she goes off, breaking down the nearest wall. Sunshine spills into the building. 

“I think they left some vehicles outside. Maybe we can take one,” Farah says. 

Dirk turns back towards Ken. “Can you walk?” he asks.

Ken glances at the exit Mona’s created and shakes his head. “I think I should stay.” 

Dirk tries not to be visibly relieved. As much as Ken has helped him, he really doesn’t want to spend more time with the man than he absolutely has to. 

“If you’re sure,” he says, and Ken nods. 

Mona becomes a wheelchair, and Dirk and Farah help Todd sit down so Farah can push Mona while Dirk leads them out of the building. There are a few vehicles outside. He ignores the vans that brought them here, not wanting to go anywhere near them, and walks towards a car. 

He pulls on the passenger door handle, and sighs when the door doesn’t open. 

“Anything?” Farah asks. 

Dirk shakes his head. “I’ll keep looking, and…” He walks past the car and sees something glinting on the ground next to the driver side door. All but leaping at it, Dirk sees that it’s a set of keys. 

He presses the unlock button on the fob and a car a few spots away honks twice, its lights flashing with the horn. 

“Well done, Dirk!” Farah says, and they both go to the unlocked car. Dirk helps Todd into the back seat while Farah moves the driver’s seat and gets in. Dirk runs to the passenger side and sits beside Todd, Mona jumping in behind him as a grey kitten. 

Farah starts the engine as Dirk closes his door, the tires squealing as they pull out of the parking spot.


	13. The shelter of someone’s arms

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to a hospital?” Dirk asks, even though they already had this conversation in the car. In spite of his own dislike of hospitals, he knows Todd had multiple attacks, knows how dangerous that can be. 

Todd shrugs, and Dirk can’t ignore the way Todd’s fingers keep trembling. “A hospital would just tell me to take my meds and get some rest. I can do that here.”

He smiles at Dirk and holds his hands. 

“I’m okay. I promise. If you’re that worried we can call Amanda and see if she and the Rowdy 3 can hang out for a while.” 

“I think that would be wise,” Farah says, walking in with four mugs balanced on a plate, her phone held to her ear by her shoulder. “Sorry, Tina,” she says into the phone as Dirk takes the plate from her, “just talking to Dirk and Todd. You were saying?” 

Dirk can hear Tina doing her best to fuss over Farah from afar, intermixed with her suggesting she and Hobbs come for a visit so they can help. 

“We don’t want to be a trouble,” Farah says, and walks back out of the room. 

“They should visit,” Todd says quietly. 

Dirk nods and grabs his own phone so he can text Hobbs and say so, then grabs two of the mugs, one of which he gives to Todd. 

“Mona,” he says to the yellow and black afghan that Todd is under, “there’s hot cocoa if you want some.” 

The afghan slides to the floor and Mona stands up in her person shape, putting a soft throw blanket on Todd’s legs before taking one of the mugs from the plate and perching on the arm of the sofa next to Dirk.

Farah walks back in. “Tina and Hobbs are going to visit, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Dirk says, and gives her the last of the mugs when she sits down on Todd’s other side. 

“How are you feeling?” Farah asks Todd. 

“Okay.”

Farah makes a face but doesn’t comment on Todd’s obvious lie. 

“Did you talk to Amanda?” she says instead. 

“Oh.” Todd grabs his phone and begins to type out a message. 

Dirk watches as his shaking fingers skim across the letters, causing Todd to delete the entire message multiple times. 

Sighing, Todd hands his phone to Dirk. “Could you text her?” 

Dirk takes his phone and sends a quick text to Amanda, telling her what happened and asking if they can come by in as few words as he can manage. He holds his hands out when that’s done, and Todd offers his own. Dirk massages the backs of Todd’s knuckles with his thumbs. 

Farah picks up Todd’s phone when the response comes through. “They’ll be here tomorrow,” she says, texting Amanda back. 

“Thanks,” Todd says, his eyelids drooping. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Dirk asks. “You’ll probably feel better after, and your attacks aren’t as bad when you’re well rested.” 

“Could you guys… stay with me?” Todd looks down as he asks it, like he’s ashamed of the question. “I’ll probably have another attack even if I do sleep and…” 

“We’ll stay,” Farah says. 

Nodding, Dirk holds Todd’s hands a little tighter. 

They put a nature documentary on for Todd, and Dirk smiles when Todd falls asleep on his shoulder. Mona becomes a blanket big enough to cover the three of them, and Dirk lets the documentary take up most of his attention while Farah looks at her phone, presumably texting Tina. 

Sharks and hagfish are eating a whale carcass when Todd shifts, making a choking noise. His eyes are wide and fearful, and his shoulders twitch like he’s struggling to move. 

Dirk grabs Todd’s pills, shaking two into his hand and pressing them between Todd’s lips while Farah holds him still, assuring him that he’s safe and having an attack. Todd wheezes after he’s swallowed the pills down. 

Farah and Dirk do everything they can to keep him calm until the attack ends, and Todd breaths a heavy sigh. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” Dirk replies. 

Todd shivers and Mona becomes a heavier blanket, but that only makes Todd whimper, shoving at her without seeming to realize it. Dirk pets her where she’s over his own legs and Mona becomes a kitten. She mewls sadly on the sofa between Todd and Dirk, but Farah picks her up and cuddles her, reassuring her that she didn’t do something bad and that Todd wasn’t upset at her. Todd reaches over and pets her a little too, and Mona meows happily. 

Smiling weakly, Todd leans against Dirk, holding onto his shirt. 

“Sorry,” he says again. “That one was… I dreamt that they were crushing me.”

Dirk hugs him and kisses his forehead. He pauses, realizing what he just did, hoping Todd isn’t angry. 

Todd just cuddles closer, and presses a kiss to Dirk’s cheek. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. 

“It’s about time,” Farah says from the other side of the sofa, Mona looking particularly smug where she’s perched on Farah’s shoulder. 

Dirk blushes and holds tighter to Todd. 

“I was worried,” Todd says quietly. “That something would happen and I wouldn’t get a chance to tell you.” 

Dirk had hardly been able to admit how he felt, even to himself. Feeling this way for someone had been dangerous for so long—he’d always believed the universe just didn’t want him to have that, that his path was one he’d take alone. Dirk hadn’t even thought to worry about never telling Todd about how he felt. 

But if there was ever someone that the universe allowed Dirk to stay with, that the universe wouldn’t take from him, it was Todd. 

Todd blinks slowly at him, and Dirk realizes he must be exhausted from his attack. 

“Maybe we should talk more tomorrow,” he suggests. 

“Yeah.” Todd curls up against him, his head on Dirk’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he says to Farah. 

“It’s fine,” she replies with a smile. “At least I know you two have finally figured it out.” 

Dirk rubs Todd’s back and they all settle in to watch the documentary again. Dirk holds on to Todd for the rest of the night, only leaving him when he’s sure that Farah and Mona are awake and can keep an eye on him. By the time Todd wakes up, Amanda and the Rowdy 3 have arrived, as have Hobbs and Tina. Amanda teases Todd when Dirk kisses his cheek, but Dirk can see how happy everyone really is, and knows that the joy in Todd’s eyes is reflected in his own. 


	14. Conquer the world in love

Osmund opens the door to his bedroom, balancing a covered tray on one hand. Ken is propped up in his bed, typing on his laptop. 

He looks up at Osmund and frowns. “I could have gotten up,” he says. 

“You’re on bedrest, I ain’t makin’ you get up to eat.” 

Ken rolls his eyes, but moves his laptop so Osmund can put the tray down in front of him. 

Osmund cups his cheek and kisses him, his hand trailing down so he can feel where the bullet holes had been and how Ken’s body has healed. 

The wounds are all but gone, and if Osmund is honest with himself, Ken is well enough to go back to work, but he wants nothing more than to take care of his baby. 

Ken’s fingers touch his neck, then curl around the back of his skull. Osmund’s knees bend in response, and he kneels next to the bed without breaking the kiss. 

Osmund gasps when Ken tugs on his hair, and the tip of Ken’s tongue penetrates his lips. Osmund sucks on it, inviting him deeper. 

He looks up at Ken, their eyes meeting, and Osmund allows each of his senses to focus on Ken. All he feels, all he sees, hears, smells, tastes, is Ken. It would be overwhelming if Osmund didn’t want this, if Osmund wanted anything that wasn’t to fulfill every one of Ken’s desires. 

When Ken pulls away, it takes a moment for Osmund to come back into his own body, to be only himself and not just an extension of Ken. He leans back in, pressing kisses down Ken’s neck. 

Ken runs his fingers through Osmund’s hair. “What did you cook for me?” he asks. 

Osmund sits back on his heels and removes the cover, revealing a steak, potatoes au gratin, and steamed vegetables.

Ken grins and cuts off a piece of the steak, and moans, his eyelids fluttering. 

It’s more than enough praise for Osmund, but Ken still reaches down to run the backs of his fingers across Osmund’s cheek. Osmund sighs and leans into the touch. 

“Good boy,” Ken murmurs. 

Osmund kisses his fingers, following them as long as he can when Ken pulls them away. 

Ken takes another bite, then cuts off a piece which he picks up with his fingers and feeds to Osmund. Osmund takes it carefully, making sure not to nip Ken’s fingers, then licks them clean. 

They continue on that way, Ken sharing every few bites. When the plate is clear, Osmund moves the tray, placing it on the nightstand before he sits next to Ken. 

Osmund kisses him and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He presses his lips to each inch of skin that’s exposed until he reaches the waistband of Ken’s pajama pants. Ken hums as Osmund rubs his thumb over the bullet wound on his thigh at the same time that he kisses the one in his abdomen. 

“They hurt at all?”

“No,” Ken answers.

Osmund grins. He’d thought for a long time that his abilities were pretty bullshit, that there was no reason for him to be able to heal. Riggins had seen his powers as a godsend, using him on friends and enemies alike, but Osmund saw it as a crutch. If you needed a healer around when torturing someone, then you were a shitty torturer. 

“Any news on Project Beta?” Ken asks as if reading Osmund’s thoughts—not that he’d be surprised if Ken  _ could _ . 

Pausing with his lips close enough to brush Ken’s skin, he answers, “He’s settling in as well as any other new project. 

“And Project Aura?” 

“She’s in the wind.”

Ken rolls his eyes at his joke. 

Laughing, Osmund shakes his head. “I don't think we'll see her again anytime soon. She’ll want time to plan before she tries anything.”

He nuzzles against Ken’s belly, feeling the layer of fat beneath it. His baby didn’t grow up the way Osmund did, being honed and sharpened into a weapon, and it shows in his body. His chest is free of scars except the two that Osmund healed. 

Osmund plans on keeping it that way, regardless of any plans Aura has. 

Ken cups his cheek and Osmund sits up to kiss his lips. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, running his fingers through Osmund’s hair. 

“You,” Osmund answers truthfully. 

Ken bites his bottom lip and Osmund settles on his lap, straddling his thighs. Ken’s hands rub up and down Osmund’s legs before they slip under his shirt, and Osmund pulls away just enough for Ken to take his shirt off. 

Osmund watches as Ken studies his tattoo, running his fingers over the lines. He leans in to lick a stripe over it, his running over Osmund’s back to feel the matching brand on his shoulder. 

“Mine,” Ken whispers against the tattoo, just above where Osmund heart beats. There’s something like a challenge in his eyes, like he doesn’t think Osmund will admit it. 

“All yours, baby,” Osmund tells him. There’s no pretending he isn’t. Osmund’s been  _ his  _ since the first time he heard Ken’s voice on his comms. 

As he looks down at Ken, Osmund feels the gentle pulling, the universe trying to lead him again, since he listened for the first time in years. He’d ignore it, but the pulling only wants him to lean forward, to press his lips to Ken’s. Osmund obeys, and Ken holds him in place, keeping him exactly where he wants to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](https://lourdesdeath.tumblr.com)


End file.
